


Stripped Bare

by dollcewrites



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Build, Stripper AU, not like any stripper au you've read before i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:58:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollcewrites/pseuds/dollcewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through a series of events you probably wouldn't believe, Sanji finds himself bartending at the Going Merry: a bar-come-strip-club owned by his neighbouring flat's eccentric inhabitant.<br/>The strangest thing of all is how much he likes the stripper with a three katana dance routine and a penchant for pushing Sanji's buttons the wrong way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Series Of (Un)fortunate Events

Today was the shittiest day of Sanji's life.

This was somewhat of a pinnacle of achievement for him, as he'd had no small amount of shitty days.

Like the day of his first thanksgiving with Zeff, his adoptive father, when he was seven. He’d made a delicious casserole for dinner, and just as he was about to serve it, a bowl fell from the cupboard above. It’d shattered on the counter and rained glass shards into the food. That had been the first time he’d cooked in Zeff’s kitchen, disobeying the man in an attempt to show his gratitude in the only way he knew how. It had also been the last time he cooked in that kitchen; though that was because they were forced to move shortly after.

Or the day he was made to get up in front of the boy’s swim team, and a hundred spectators, to swim 100 yards with an obvious boner sticking out of his suit. He was thirteen—it was a natural bodily function that was totally unprompted, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Much as he couldn’t do anything about the class bully beating him bloody after school, calling him a _“f*cking f*ggot_ ” over and over.

Or the day when he was fifteen, and his neighbour had needed her six and a half year old babysat, and he’d agreed. The kid had declared to Sanji halfway through the evening that he _“wanted to be Spiderman.”_ He’d promptly gone outside, found the biggest spider he could, and let it bite his hand. He’d started frothing at the mouth and Sanji had to rush him to the hospital, where he stayed overnight. They’d moved houses again after that.

Oh, and then there’d been his sixteenth birthday—when no one had come to see him—and the only two phone calls he’d got had been from his girlfriend, and his best friend. His girlfriend had called to ask for her clothes (which she’d left at his house) back, and his best friend had called to tell him he was sleeping with his girlfriend. Needless to say, he hadn’t stayed friends with either of them.  
  
The contender for the worst day of his life, though, had to be last Christmas last month.

He’d had to hide in the closet of his girlfriend’s bedroom all morning—despite her being 20, she didn't want to admit to her parents that she’d had her boyfriend stay the night. Then, around noon, he’d been let out, only for her to break down crying in his arms, dump him, and confess she thought she was gay. For Christmas dinner, Zeff had told him he had to move out and that his _‘shit cooking’_ wasn’t wanted at the Baratie anymore. And his cigarette packet had got soaked, and so ruined, by the rain.  
  
In all honesty, he had got over the girl pretty quick, and as far as the Zeff-firing-him-and-kicking-him-out situation went, he knew the old man had done it for his own good. Zeff had raised him like a son, and they loved each other in their own, odd way. Though neither of the men would admit it, they’d shed tears when Sanji had packed up his things the next day and left for his flight. It had taken him inland, far from the East Blue Coast and all he’d ever grown to love, but also, all that he had grown to loathe. A shove out the door was the only way Zeff knew how to help him.

And Sanji was grateful, he supposed, for all the sour endings and disappointments his hometown had gifted him. Spite was, and always had been, his motivator. He’d applied to Grandline University with a fiercely burning will to kick the shit out of a Bachelor of Science degree in Human Nutrition.

But all the fights he’d lost, the times he’d been dumped or rejected, the mistakes he’d made—they paled in comparison to today. His determination to spite the horrible universe which rejected him was waning like a candle in the Sahara.

To detail this horrendous sequence of events, one should begin at 5 a.m. that morning, when Sanji was supposed to be roused by his alarm. An alarm which did not go off. Because his phone had inexplicably died in the night.

At 9 o'clock, he was woken up by a stray cat when it leapt in through his open window. It landed on his face, and promptly sprayed him and his mattress with the most rank smelling urine Sanji’s nose had ever endured. It was after chasing the cat out that he registered he was three hours late for work on his first day. Did he rush into work and beg for a second chance or did he try to cleanse himself of the smell with a heavy duty shower, and _then_ rush in to beg for his job? He’d figured a man smelling like cat piss had no place in a kitchen and he could never do that to himself, so he dumped his clothes, scalded himself with hot water and soap, and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that his boss was merciful. Calling in faking sick was not an option when his only means of communication had died in the night.

The 11 o'clock bus which was supposed to take him to work broke down halfway there. He ran the rest of the way in the rain when the driver informed him that the bus company’s mechanic would be there in an hour to fix it.

He was fired on the spot at five past 12. It was no less than he’d expected, honestly. If a man came into his kitchen hours late and soaking wet, claiming his phone had broken and a cat had pissed on him, he would’ve let him go immediately. The day’s sequence of events had just been so surreal, Sanji had harbored an equally delusional glimmer of hope.

He didn’t remember making his way back to his new apartment, which was odd. You only seem to be able to autopilot your way home through familiar places, and Sanji was completely at a loss in this new, oversized, and treacherous city. Grandline was really something else compared to his home town.  
  
The elevator was “undergoing maintenance” (much like it had been for the past two years, as one of the other tenants had informed him.) He took the stairs two at a time.

He’d jammed his hand into his pocket, looking to suffocate his key between his fingers before jamming them into his door. It was then when he realized, with no small sense of disbelief and desperation, that his pocket was empty. Blunt fingernails scratched the interior of his pocket frantically. He searched the other but all that was in it was his wax lined packet of cigarettes, safe from water damage. Turning out his two back and all his jacket pockets bore nothing.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry.

Instead, he slid down the wall by door with a dry laugh. The wallpaper was vomit yellow, and peeling where it met the floorboards.

The packet of cigarettes which he’d taken out was still resting in his palm. He flicked open the top and pulled one out, placing it between his teeth, and reached into his other pocket where he kept his lighter—

Which he’d lost. Along with his key.  
  
With a soft, shaky exhale, he curled into himself. His hand took the cigarette from his lips. His back hunched over and he rested his elbows on his knees. As he stilled, he thought maybe he could turn to stone like this. Or sink away into the floor.

And so here he was.  
  
The worst day of his life. Locked out of an apartment he’d moved into two days ago, with a mattress smelling like cat piss inside. Unemployed in a city he found alien, with no friends, and a broken phone. And no light for his cigarette.

“Hey, are you okay?”

If Sanji had to describe the face he looked up into with the first word that came to mind, it would have been “shocking.”

In the sense that, holding the guy’s gaze was like trying to hold a live wire. But also, because the kid could easily have jammed his finger into a power socket two seconds prior.

His hair was jet black and wildly escaping from beneath a misplaced looking straw hat. Thin eyebrows arched up above wide, round eyes. A short, nasty looking scar zig-zagged over his left cheekbone.

If Sanji had thought the straw hat was misplaced, he really didn’t know what to say about the guy’s footwear. He wore a gray hoodie and denim shorts, paired with plastic flip flops, in a vulgar shade of magenta.

“Um, sorry?” Sanji’s voice ground out the words through an reluctant throat. He cleared it with a cough.

The boy blinked at him. “Well, you’re sitting outside someone’s front door on the ground, looking pretty miserable. I was wondering if you’re okay.”

In the short week he’d been in the city, not one person had shown Sanji a hint of kindness. He was almost lost for words.

“It’s actually, um, my apartment. I moved in here two days ago. I’ve—” momentarily Sanji wondered if it was okay to tell this guy anything, but he figured he had nothing to lose (literally) and so he continued. “I’ve lost my keys, though.”

The guy cracked a grin so wide it rivaled the electrocuted look of his eyes. “Oh, boy! That sucks! Only two days and you lost your keys!”

Sanji’s neck prickled and he grit his teeth. Just _great_. _Now he was being laughed at._

The boy slapped his knee and exhaled giddily. “Gotta tell you though, I lost my keys three times in the first week. One of the times was on the first day, too. So, you’re still doing better than me!” He laughed again.

“...Really?”

“Yeah. Guess I just forgot about ‘em all the time. My friend put the fourth pair on a lanyard ‘round my neck, so I wouldn’t lose ‘em anymore. She’s smart like that.”

Sanji rubbed the back of his neck. “So... what should I do about the keys?”

“Oh, just text the landlord. He has spare keys for everything, of course, so he’ll let you in tonight. And then he can get a locksmith to make you another set of keys. It’ll cost you twenty bucks though.”

“Great.” Sanji said rather dryly as he pushed up off the floor. “Wait, fuck. My phone’s inside, and it's broken. I can’t text him, or look at his number. _Fuck._ ”

“No problem, I have it! You can borrow my phone,” the guy grins as he fishes a blocky Nokia fliptop from his pocket.

Sanji nearly makes a joke about him using a brick for a mobile device, when he remembers if his own smartphone hadn’t copped out last night everything would be fine. Judging by the scratches all over the phone’s plastic, durability is essential for the guy. “Wait—How do you have my landlord’s number?”

The guy points to the door directly across from Sanji’s door. “‘Cause he’s my landlord too. That’s my place.”

“Oh, right. Duh. Anyway, would you mind texting him for me? It’d take me ages to type on one of those keyboards.”

Another of those grins flashes over the guy’s face. “No problem.”

Sanji leans against the wall.

“So you moved here really recently? Are you from out of town?” The guy has apparently finished the text and is now smiling curiously at Sanji.

“Uh, yeah. I moved here from the East Blue Coast.”

The boy whistles. “That’s far off.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Why’d you come here then?”

“Figured a city would be a good change. I’m starting at the University.”

“Oh, cool! A couple of my friends are starting this year too!”  
  
The Nokia vibrates much like those bulky buzzers they give you at cafés. The ones that Sanji just despises. _So_ inelegant.

After a glance at the screen, the guy beams at Sanji and gives him a thumbs up. “He’ll be here in five!”

Sanji breathes out a sigh. “Okay, great.”

Luffy frowns at the screen of his phone, a square of glowing radioactive green in the dimming light. “Oh, crap, is that the time? I have to go, just gotta grab something from my flat before I really do have to tail it outta here—” He spins toward the door across the hall, reaching into the neck of his hoodie, and pulling out a red lanyard with a number of keys attached. Sanji refrains from snorting. _He still uses the lanyard._ After a few moments of wiggling a key into the lock, the guy falls inside.

Sanji is left standing outside his own door rather awkwardly.

The boy comes out just as quickly as he went in, a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Sorry that I have to ditch you, I’ll see you round! Just wait here for the landlord. Okay, I’m out, see ya—” He’s started to jog down the stairwell, but he pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “—my bad, I didn’t get your name?”

“Oh. It's Sanji.”

He grins, all white teeth and brightness which is a stark contrast to his dark and unruly appearance. “Luffy.”

“Thanks, Luffy, I owe you one!” Sanji calls out to the man’s back. He’s leapt down the last three stairs, and he gives a wave as he turns the corner out of sight.  
  
Sanji’s landlord arrives not long after, clearly unimpressed.

He gets chewed out a little by the elderly man as he’s let inside. The suitcase which houses all of Sanji’s current worldly possessions is sitting on his dresser. Popping it open, he fishes out a leather wallet. It’s packed full of a lot of cash right now, so he hadn’t wanted to take it out with him—probably a very wise decision, considering his luck today. He has a bank account where most of his money is kept, of course, the stuff he’d earned from working at the _Baratie._ But this stack of cash was his emergency money for the move. He plucks a twenty from it and stuffs it back under some sweaters.

His landlord seems pretty satisfied when he’s been paid off for the replacement key, but before leaving his face scrunches up for a moment. It does unflattering things to his weathered skin.

“What’s that smell?”

 _Fuck._ “Oh, ah. A stray got in. I’ll have that dry-cleaned immediately. Don’t worry.”

The man looks him up and down sourly. “Keep the windows closed at night, ya hear me?”

Sanji nods. “Alright.”

With a small grimace of approval and a wave from the man, Sanji is left alone.

The first thing he does is turn the stove on and light a cigarette with the fingers of flames fanning out from the burner. The strain in his shoulders relaxes and his stomach muscles unclench, a warm feeling spreading from his head to his toes. The cloud he blows out twists lazily mid-air before dissipating.

Next, he inspects his bed. The damage isn’t as bad as previously assessed, when he strips the sheets he sees the mattress avoided the spraying. However, the wool padding layer, the under sheets, and the duvet all smell rancid. He shoves them in a black plastic garbage bag. Figuring the cost of buying new sheets just outweighs the cost of dry-cleaning them, he makes a mental note to do just that tomorrow.

He distracts himself from thinking about the future by surveying his newly stocked refrigerator. (Buying groceries was the first thing he did after moving in.) _One step at a time, Sanji._ _Food first, survival plan after._

As his hands move over ingredients and utensils, he lets everything else move to the back of his mind. He cuts slices of salmon as if they were butter, slices vegetables like he was born with a knife in hand. He cleans as he goes, managing a sizzling frying pan and boiling asparagus and carrots in a pot simultaneously. Spices are selected without a second thought.  
  
His kitchen is meticulously organised and clean even as he plates up his dinner, finishing by placing a slice of lemon beside the fillet. Apart from the knife set, which had been a birthday gift from Zeff years ago, the kitchen only came with the bare minimum of tools. He’d have to buy the rest of the things he wanted himself, but for now he could manage.

A half hour later he takes his scraped-clean plate to the sink to wash up. The weight of his situation begins to drag him down like little fish-hooks in his clothes. He lights another cigarette.

The taste blends nicely in his mouth with that of the smoked salmon.

Though he had enough savings to keep him going for a while, he’d basically planned on them being exclusively for university fees. He’d need an income, so he’d need to find another job. Hopefully in a kitchen. He wondered if anyone would accept him after the stunt he’d pulled at the last place, even with his recommendations and experience at the _Baratie._

The keys situation was under control, and the dry-cleaning he could do tomorrow. He could take his phone somewhere to get it fixed, or, if worst come the worst, buy a new one.

That just left the issue of where he was going to sleep. On the bare mattress? Could he make a blanket heap out of his own clothes? There probably weren’t enough. It was going to be fucking cold at night, this time of year.

He’d slept clothed on couches plenty of times, which would’ve worked out great, except for the apartment didn’t even have a couch yet.  
Stubbing his cigarette in the sink basin, he tossed the butt into the bin. For a moment, he went to reach into his pocket, to check the time on his phone.

_This was so frustrating._

The apartment didn’t even have a clock, but he could remedy that tomorrow as well.  
  
He walked into the bedroom, to peer out of the window by his mattress. It was the only window in the apartment.  
  
It looked out at a luxurious view of the neighbouring building’s brick wall.

Scaffolding ran up the side of his own building, a work in progress apparently as abandoned as their elevator’s was. That explained how a cat had been able to make its way into the third floor.

Judging by the ink colour of the visible slip of sky, it was later than Sanji had thought. It was cooling down fast, too.  
  
He moved back into the central room of his apartment. The front door opened to this room, fitted with a single low coffee table and armchair, a kitchen took up half the space and a small bathroom and bedroom lead off from it.

Just as he’d lit another cigarette and sunk into the unforgivingly stiff armchair, a knock on the door rattled through the apartment.

He scratched the back of his head as he undid the security bolt and opened the door.

“Sanji! Hey!”

Sanji blinked as he took in a mess of black hair and a broad grin. “Luffy, hey. What’s up?”

“I was just coming back to check you’d gotten in alright!”

 _Is the guy seriously this nice?_ “Oh, really? That’s, um, thoughtful of you… thanks,” He offers a smile back.

“Ah, no problem! Also, I did need to grab something I forgot from my place.”

Sanji nearly rolls his eyes. “I see. Oh, ah, Luffy, do you think you could do me another favour?” A thought had struck him.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Do you have a blanket or some sheets I could borrow? All I’ve got is a mattress.”  
  
Luffy tilts his head a little. “Yeah, I mean, I’ll have something you can borrow, probably! Come over and we’ll have a look.”

Sanji tells Luffy he’ll be right over, and quickly locates his wallet in his suitcase. He stuffs it into the pocket of his pants alongside his pack of cigarettes. Since his apartment is going to be unlocked until he gets his new set of keys, he doesn’t want to leave it unattended, just in case. The chances of anyone coming into his place are slim but it’s better to be on the safe side.

He slips across the hall and into the open door across from his.

Luffy’s apartment is identical to Sanji’s, except it’s flipped horizontally so they mirror each other. Where his own flat is pretty naked looking, Luffy’s is a hectic mess.

A mismatched array of cheap but comfortable looking furniture litters the main room. Clutter fills up any free space, spilling over chairs and out of bookshelves. Clothes are flung over armchairs. Empty beer boxes have been left on the floor. A plugboard with chargers spouting out of it is on the coffee table, which has no space for coffee mugs, as it is housing a stack of magazines and an empty pizza box. Sanji wonders when the last time Luffy cleaned was.

Sanji’s eyes are drawn firstly to the giant, double doored refrigerator. It’s sleek and steel, standing out as expensive and looking strange crammed into Luffy’s tiny kitchen. _What the hell does the guy need such a large fridge for?_

Just as expensive and out of place looking is the widescreen TV, set up across from the biggest sofa.

_Nokia phone, 55-inch LCD TV. Fifty dollar armchairs, five thousand dollar fridge._

Sanji is, to say the least, confused.

Luffy comes out of his bedroom zipping up the same black duffel, to see Sanji standing there rather dumbfoundedly.

“You know, my flatmate isn’t gonna be home tonight, so you could totally sleep in his bed.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow. “He wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah, he wouldn’t mind. I can’t find any spare blankets, so you might as well sleep there! It’s the bed closest to the window,” Luffy is weaving his way to the front door.

“And, you wouldn’t mind...? We just met. I could be planning to kill you.”

“Hmph, that sounds fun,” The other man grins. “But I don’t think you will, you seem like a cool guy. I trust you. Anyway, I’ll be back later tonight. Early morning. Don’t wake me up 'til it’s at least past one tomorrow afternoon. Okay, gotta rush, bye!”

It seems every time Luffy speaks, Sanji is left with more questions than he started with. It should be strange that Luffy trusts him, when he barely knows Sanji. But seeing as Sanji is about to sleep in the guy's flat it's safe to say it goes both ways to some extent.

Which is frankly weirder.

He drags himself into the bedroom. Blue digits on an alarm clock inform him it’s quarter to 11.

There’s a double mattress on the floor by the closet, and a double bed by the window. With a bedside table squeezed between them and a dresser across from the bed, the room is pretty cramped. A mirror is propped against the wall by the dresser.  
  
Sanji eyes the bed. Normally he’d think it was way too weird to sleep in a stranger’s bed, but this has been the longest fucking day of his life and it’s soft sheets seem to be seducing him. Plus, the kind of guy that could live in this environment alongside Luffy probably wouldn’t mind.

Reaching this conclusion, Sanji toes off his shoes. He knows sleeping in his shirt will crumple it awfully, but he doesn’t care. He removes his wallet and pack of cigarettes and shoves them each in a shoe respectively.

The bed smells like men’s cologne and someone he doesn’t recognise, and as he settles under the sheets he thinks it will distract him from sleep, being so unfamiliar. He’s wrong. Fatigue swims over his body and he’s pulled under the cloak of sleep almost instantly.

 

—

 

Light slices thinly through the room where the edges of the curtain don’t manage to cover the window. Sanji’s vision takes a minute to adjust from bleary to discernible.

He props himself up in bed.

Someone else’s bed.  
  
Luffy’s flatmate’s bed.

He glances over to the mattress on the floor, where Luffy is now sprawled out on his back, limbs engaging a blanket in combat. There is no apparent winner. His mouth is open, snoring softly.

The alarm clock reads quarter past twelve. Sanji isn’t used to waking up this late. As a chef, he’s usually up before the sun. He feels groggy and wrong, but now he’s awake, he doesn’t want to go back to sleep.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he puts his hands above his head and stretches out his back. His spine clicks in a satisfying manner. After standing, he bends at the hip and touches his toes, feeling the muscles along the backs of his legs sting. A sigh escapes his lips as he stands.

He wanders into the kitchen and the fridge catches his attention immediately. Burning with curiosity, he tugs one of the doors open. He figures that the least he could do for Luffy is cook him breakfast.

It’s packed white wall to white wall with meat.

Rolls and waves of shaved pork in plastic wrap, whole unroasted chickens, hams bursting out of netting, vacuum sealed stacks of packed bacon. There’s an entire drawer dedicated to the frozen cutlets of cows. There’s enough meat in the fridge to cater a wedding. Maybe two.  
  
Surveying the right half of the fridge, he notes that the door holds a large number of chilled beer cans, a litre of milk, and a block of butter. An egg carton is nestled on top of a box of chicken nuggets. Some vegetables squished in the bottom drawer catch his eye. He picks out an onion that looks edible and some chives that can probably just be saved.

The cupboards by the fridge are more normal, even if they’re mostly bare. There’s a cereal box, packets of spaghetti, and some instant ramen cups. A bag of flour is squeezed beside cooking oil and on the countertop, there’s a sugar pot and salt and pepper shakers. An open bag of ground coffee beans sits beside a plunger.

Sanji finds a large frying pan and a spatula while he starts making coffee. He cracks four eggs into the pan and fishes out an open bacon packet.

He’s plated two eggs on two plates and is starting on his first cup of coffee, prodding sizzling slivers of bacon in the pan, when Luffy comes shuffling out of the bedroom.

His eyes become wide as saucers when he sees Sanji cooking.

“I knew I smelled bacon! Awesome!”

Sanji smiles at him. “I thought I’d make us breakfast, I hope it’s okay.”

“Yeah, no problem! Boy, I’m _sooo_ hungry.”

“Here, coffee,” Sanji slides him a mug that he’s just poured.

Luffy chokes on the first eager sip. _“Ah!_ Bitter!”

“Sugar,” Sanji passes him the sugar pot. Luffy dumps three spoonfuls in. This is apparently to his taste, as he’s nearly finished his coffee by the time he takes his next breath.

“How much bacon would you like?” Sanji points a spatula to the pan.

Luffy eyes the open packet. There are about 18 slices left. “Just use up the packet.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow but obliges the man. It’s his bacon, after all, and he’s using his kitchen.

Time slides by and soon he’s nudging bacon strips and diced onion onto the plates next to the eggs. He’d managed to make an appealing looking plate even with limited ingredients, chives and pepper sprinkled over fried eggs and lightly crisped bacon.

He brings the plates over to the lounge and hands one to Luffy. He clears a space for his plate and cutlery and picks the armchair with the most exposed surface area.

Luffy eats so fast Sanji is worried he’s going to choke. He’s halfway through his breakfast and if he moaned, it honestly wouldn’t surprise Sanji, with the face he is making.

“Sanji, this is so good! Dude,” His eyes roll back. “The bacon isn’t burnt and everything tastes so _good,_ I don’t even know how you did that.”

“You’re surprised the bacon isn’t burnt? I would have thought a guy with a jumbo-fridge full of meat could manage to cook bacon without burning it.”

Luffy shrugs as he scrapes his plate clean of any escaped egg yolk with a fork. Sanji had almost asked Luffy why he needed so much meat, but he’s just seen him eat eight slices of bacon in a record time of one minute. Guy must destroy eating competitions.

“I don’t do the cooking, my flatmate does,” Luffy grins. “‘Cause I always burn myself or the food when I get impatient,”

Which, Sanji guesses, is always. He snorts. “Ah, right. Well, there’s more bacon in the pan, cause I cooked the whole packet.”

“You’re the best!” Luffy is over there in a flash.

“I’m just a cook.”

Luffy attempts to speak and the words come out sounding like _“ooer ah ook?!”_ but Sanji gets that he means “You’re a cook?!”

“Yup.”

Luffy does choke a little this time as he swallows, before turning to Sanji. “Can you mix drinks too?!”

“Um, yeah? Like, cocktails and stuff? Of course.”

“So you can make like, margaritas?”

“Yep.”

“Peanut coladas?”

“It’s piña coladas. And, yes.”

“Long Island ice teas? Martinis?”

“Yeah, all that. Why?” He thinks Luffy is going to go on listing drinks until his poor brain explodes.

“You should totally come work for me!”

“...Work for you?”

“Yeah, we need a new bartender. You’d be perfect!”

Sanji’s brain slowly makes the stepping stones to the unlikely, but only possible, conclusion. “You have a bar?”

“Yup,” Luffy is leaning against the counter now and he grins at Sanji. “The Going Merry! I’m the owner. It’s a really cool place. You’d love working there.”

Sanji, on principle, would never agree to a job at a bar, especially when he’d never seen the place, especially when he’d just moved to the city—

But he’s in desperate need of income. And he’s pretty good at mixing drinks, and Luffy has been so helpful and nice to him—

“What’s the pay?”

Luffy scratches his head. “Hm, um, I forgot. I’ll text my friend and ask. She’s the manager!”

He disappears into the bedroom presumably to locate his fliptop. A minute later he emerges, jabbing the little rubber buttons of the keypad, and flops down onto a couch.

A little buzz arrives moments later.

“Nami says it’s 4 more bucks up from minimum wage, per hour. And she says to remind you that you get to keep all your own tips at the Merry.” Luffy looks up at him. “Honestly, a lot of the employees make more in tips than they do in wages.”

Sanji should probably stop to question Luffy about that, but he’s been distracted.

“Nami, did you say? So, your manager’s a girl? And she’s your friend?”  
  
“Yeah! Nami is great. She’s also the accountant ‘cause she’s really good with money.”

“She sounds cute!”

Luffy rubs his chin. “Um, yeah? Yeah! Nami’s really pretty!”

_Sold._

“So when do I start?”

Luffy leaps up and whoops. “You’ll be my bartender?! Awesome! Oh, this is gonna be great. You can start tonight, if that’s cool? We open at 8.”

Sanji can’t tell if Luffy is always this excited or if he’s just sold his soul for half the recommended price.

“So how—”

The lock of the front door makes an undignified grumble as it’s rattled open.

Sanji turns his head and just catches Luffy’s face lighting up, as he turns to see the door opening.

The man that has just come in, is… Sanji finds himself lacking the words to express it.

He’s tall, and his hair is dark like Luffy’s but it’s messy in a way that looks tousled and charming. Whereas Luffy’s hair says “I woke up like this, and don’t own a hairbrush” this guy’s hair seems to say “I woke up like this in the bedroom of a stranger, and last night we had better sex than you could ever dream of.”

Slanted brows compliment slightly tilted eyes, thick with eyelashes so long even the bottom ones tickle freckled cheeks. His jaw looks sculpted, his lips are slightly pouting. Sanji is sure no small number of people are caught staring at them.

Or perhaps, they’re stuck looking at his body. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, sun-kissed skin. A few sprays of freckles here and there which make Sanji curious to see how far they go. Jeans are slung low around his hips and a white singlet mercifully bares his deltoids and collar bones for all to see.

“Ace!” Luffy exclaims happily.

“Morning, Luffy,” Ace grins at the younger man. He glances at Sanji as he strolls over to the kitchen. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is—”

Sanji coughs as Ace eyes the bacon. “I’m Sanji. I’m your, uh, new neighbour. I moved in across the hall a couple days ago.”

“Oh, really?” Ace looks him in the eyes and gives him a smile that is too cool, and too hot all at once. Sanji thinks he might melt through the floorboards—he’d slept in _this guy’s bed. Oh my god._

Ace continues, oblivious. “Welcome to the block, then! I see you’ve already made friends with my brother, Luffy. Did you cook this, by the way? Could I help myself to some?”

Sanji is struck by how much more polite and relaxed Ace is compared to Luffy. _They’re… brothers?_ They don’t look really similar enough to be siblings. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

“Sanji isn’t just our neighbour! He’s our new bartender!” Luffy is sneaking pieces of bacon from the pan before Ace takes them all.

“Is that so? Lucky you moved in just as we needed one, huh Sanji?”

“Yeah, lucky. Wait—you work at the Merry too?”

Ace gives him a small smile. “Yup,” He pops a piece of bacon into his mouth as he props himself on a stool at the counter island.

“Ace is out best stripper!” Luffy grins widely.

_Wait, what—best… stripper? Did he hear that right?_

“Best what, sorry…?”

“Stripper. Ace is our best stripper. His routine is _suuuper_ popular,”

“Aw, come on, Luffy,” Ace elbows him with a smirk, “ _I’m_ what’s super popular. Though you’re right, my routine has also gotta be the coolest.”

Sanji is trying very hard not to imagine Ace removing bits of clothing one after the other, but it’s not working out. “So, the Merry’s like… a bar and a strip club?”

Luffy is preoccupied with finishing the last of the bacon but Ace nods. “Yup, basically just an all-around club. We have a dance floor, a bar, and then we have strippers. We only dance on stage, though. Strict no touching policy—well, not so strict. The girls like Robin stick to the no touch policy and we have bouncers who deal with customers who don’t respect that. But a few of us ignore the no touch policy when we feel like it—you can get some really big tips,” Ace winks at him. Sanji wonders if everything Ace does is flirtatious on purpose, or if it’s the curse of looking like he does. If the word ‘curse’ could even be applied.

“Sounds exciting,” He comments.

“You didn’t mention the Merry was a strip club before you hired him?” Ace looks to Luffy. "Or that there are male strippers, and it's basically one of the most popular gay bars in this part of town?"

“Uhhh, no, I guess not. It’s not a problem though, right Sanji?”

Brief visions of bartending in the midst of scantily clad dancers flash before his eyes and Sanji feels a twist in his gut. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy the company. He would definitely, definitely appreciate the strippers and dancers. It’s just that bartending at a strip club wasn’t something he had ever seen himself doing. He wonders what the Merry is actually like. Would it be kind of sleazy? Why had the last bartender left?

He glances up at his neighbours. Ace, a stripper resemblant of a greek god, and Luffy, who wears plastic flip flops, lives in a cheap rent flat, and owns a deluxe refrigerator, a widescreen TV, and apparently a club as well.

His co-worker and boss, now.

There was no going back on his promise.

“Of course there’s no problem, I’m looking forward to it.” He grins at the pair, and honestly, he _is_ kind of excited. It feels new, unreal, and strange; but those things feel good.

Something bigger is beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay like bear with me, this is gonna get zosan af i promise  
> i just needed to establish 1. sanji is my poor bisexual son who needs to get dicked down good, and 2. ace is hot as hell. no pun intended


	2. A Song of Swords and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to stick with this running gag of naming chapters after books/parodying the titles (and maybe movies...)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Luffy, what should I wear to work?”

Sanji is poking his head into his boss’s apartment. Judging from the sound coming from the TV, Luffy’s watching some kind of documentary.

“Hey Sanji! Just wear whatever. There’s no uniform or dress code or anything. Although, do wear pants.”

“...Sure.” Sanji isn’t even going to ask. He’s about to return to his flat across the hall, but he still has a shred of curiosity remaining. “What are you watching?”

Luffy breaks his gaze from the screen again. “It’s a documentary ‘bout how there are actually vampires in modern day society! Did you know that one in 50 people are vampires? We probably know one!”

“Um... sounds interesting. I’m gonna go get changed, I’ll see you outside in about—twenty minutes? It’s cool with your friend, giving me a ride?”

“Yeah, she drives me every day, and there’s space. No worries!”

More questions form on Sanji’s tongue but he exercises restraint, and quickly heads back to his flat.

In the end, he chooses a pair of black slacks and a cornflower blue button up. Warily, he checks his pockets—no holes. He slides his cigarette packet into his left pocket, and the twenty dollar cell phone he picked up from the convenience store into his right. He’s just using it until his smartphone is fixed.

After locking the front door behind himself, he slides his shiny new key into a pocket. He pats both pockets just to make sure everything is safe.

He makes his way down three flights of twisting stairwell, and pushes out of the lobby. He’s going to get really sick of those stairs, he knows it.

The sky is just darkening as the sun pulls itself below the horizon, and the air is crisp.

He figures he might be a few minutes early so he pulls out a cigarette and puts it between his lips as he lights it, one hand shielding the flame from the breeze. He tucks the new cylindrical lighter into the packet—he’s keeping them together from now on—and slides the pack back into his pocket.

He’s standing on the curb, blowing a cloud of smoke out, when a tangerine coloured Audi pulls up.

The window is rolled down.

A girl with brilliant red hair, in the same shade as her car, leans out. Thin brows curve just above large brown eyes. Even the curled lashes framing those doe eyes are a bright orange. Her face is round, and her skin is creamy. Sanji’s eyes dip down to her low cut singlet, which displays no small amount of cleavage, and he feels his pulse quicken. A braceleted wrist hangs lazily out the car and she frowns at him, probably because he’s stopped with his cigarette lifted halfway to his mouth.

“Are you Sanji?”

He lets his hand relax and winks at her. “For a beautiful girl like you, I could be anyone.”

The slapping of sandals behind him is followed by a hand slapping his back, and a rush of air.

“Sorry I’m late!” Luffy grins up at him, and then looks to the girl hanging out of her car. “Nami, hey! This is Sanji. He’s our new bartender!”

“I’m overjoyed to meet him,” Nami replies with a noticeably distinct lack of joy. She jerks her thumb to the back seats. “Hop in.”

Sanji’s mouth opens in indignation but Luffy is pulling at his sleeve. He drops his cigarette and stubs the butt out with his toe quickly, letting himself be crammed into the backseat of the little Audi.

“So, you’re the Nami who’s the manager?”

“Yup, that’s me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She throws a smile over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Sanji is thrilled to bits. He’s at a loss for words. _A cute girl is being nice to him._

He dismisses her previous cold sarcasm instantly.

“And you’re the accountant too? That’s impressive, you must be so smart to be an accountant already!”

Nami’s gaze stays trained on the road now that they’re coming into traffic. “I’ve been doing finances and accounts for ages, but I haven’t got any official qualifications yet. I’m starting an Economics degree this year.”

“Really? That’s wonderful! I’m starting this year too. Maybe we’ll see each other around?”

“Maybe. Whatcha doing?”

“A bachelor of science in human nutrition.”

Sanj suspects if he could see her face, she’d be raising one of those delicate eyebrows. “A nutritionist, huh? Interesting. What do you think of Luffy’s diet so far? I assume you’ve seen his fridge,” she sniggers. Their car moves smoothly through a set of traffic lights.

“Yes, I have. And honestly? I’m just impressed.” Sanji turns to look at Luffy, who is picking at a torn hem on his shorts. “How can you eat so much meat, Luffy? Do you even eat other things?”

Luffy grins. “Um, yeah, sometimes. I just like meat a lot.”

“You look healthy enough, but remind me to get some vegetables into you sometime.”

“We’re here,” Nami says brightly.

Sanji peers out through the windshield. They’re deep into the downtown district now, and he looks to the building they’re approaching. The street lights have just come on, casting a soft orange glow on the windowless front wall of it. A giant neon sign sprawls across the brickwork above the entrance—it reads _“The Going Merry”_ in cherry red cursive text. Beside it, a decal of a cartoonish goat’s head smiles passively down at Sanji. There’s a roped area in front of the door, but no queue to get in as of yet—the Merry won’t open for another half hour or so.

Nami turns their car into the carpark, which twists behind the building. There are spots reserved for ‘Staff Parking’ as indicated by plastic plates stuck to the back wall. Two of them are occupied by motorcycles, and an oversized silver pick-up truck takes up another. It looks like it’s built for off road, but in a city like this, has probably never been off tarmac.

Luffy lets himself out and Sanji follows.

He eyes the motorcycles. One is draped in a heavy, rain-proof cover, so he can’t really see it. The other he can see just fine, in all it’s sleek, shining glory: it’s big, with black leather upholstery and silver piping peeking out of it’s guts. The pristine condition of it all indicates careful treatment by the owner. Sanji eyes the external parts, which are lacquered black with flame decals all over. It looks like something straight out of a Fast and Furious movie.

He gestures to it. “Whose is the bike?”

“Ah, that one’s Ace’s!" Luffy chirps. 

Sanji doesn’t even know why he needed to ask. _Of course it’s Ace’s._

"He must be here already! I think he’s on first tonight.” Luffy moves around it to the covered bike. “This one’s mine,” he says with a slight pout, which quickly becomes a grin. “Wanna see it?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be inside,” Nami calls. Sanji waves but she’s disappeared around the side of the building.

Luffy is tugging the cover off his motorcycle.

“How come you don’t ride it here, like Ace does?”

That pout is back again. “I kinda got my license suspended for six months. I still have three months to go,” he whines.

He finishes removing the cover and dumps it on the ground, dusting off the seat affectionately.

It’s slightly smaller than Ace’s motorcycle but is in almost as good a condition.

It’s a blood red colour, and a skull and crossbones symbol sits on the side Sanji can see. Interestingly, a little straw hat has been spray painted onto the skull’s head. It looks slightly drippy, but professional in the rough kind of way that you’d expect on a motorbike with a skull and crossbones on it.

Sanji whistles. “It’s sweet.”

“Isn’t it?” Luffy agrees, adjusting his hat and beaming at his bike. “Usopp helped me with some of it. He painted the straw hat too,” Luffy beams.

“Usopp?”

“He’s one of our bouncers! We’ve been friends for ages.” He glances at the crumpled cover. “Can you help me put this back on?”

“Sure,” Sanji snorts. They wrestle it on and after Luffy clicks the buckles together he stands back.

“The truck is Franky’s, by the way. He’s our other bouncer. I’ll go introduce you now, and then we can have a tour of the inside!”

“Sounds good.”

They make their way around to the front of the building. Luffy hops over the ropes that make the queue in front of the door. Sanji lifts his legs over them easily, following the shorter man inside.

His eyes have to adjust to the dim light, but when they do, he needs a moment to take it all in.

Walls stretch up to meet a high ceiling, and the floorboards are made up of glossy wooden planks which Sanji is sure are real. It’s rather a contrast to the concrete walls and brick exterior of the building.

The space inside is deceptively large, or perhaps it just feels that way. In the center of everything is a square of dance floor, smooth black with multicoloured lights trained on it, stilled for now. To the left of that is a raised stage. It plateaus out in a near perfect circle—the furthest part of it disappears behind a dark curtain, which spans most of the left wall of the Merry. Classic curved couches stretch around two sides of it and in the center is a pole.

Beyond that, against the rear wall but still fairly close to the stage, is the bar. It’s wooden and lacquered, with high barstools, and an illuminated wall of bottles backed by a mirror.

The other side of the area houses restrooms in the corner, with a few booths squeezed against the far right wall. Thick wooden tables rest between them. Plenty more coloured lights are poised, pointed down at the floor from above.

By now, Sanji’s adjusted eyes can make out large speakers fastened up beside them. A few other tall speakers are pressed against walls. Black cords like thin tails weave back to power sources from the giant amps. The space is clear and quiet now, but he can imagine it hazy and packed with a throng of bodies and noise. Another door, this one unmarked, is set in the wall by the booths.

Luffy leads him across the space.

“What’s with that?” Sanji gestures to a large sheet of red and white striped fabric draped over a section of the back wall.

“Oh, somebody punched a hole through the plaster there. Usopp hung that over it to cover it up as a temporary thing, until he fixed it, but I liked it so we’re keeping it up!”

Seems like the sort of whimsical thing Luffy would do.

They push through a door marked _“Crew Only”_ to the right of the bar.

It opens into a small, short hallway lit by blue fluorescent light. Double doors are set in the wall to their left. Golden stars have been spraypainted through a stencil onto their white wood surface.

“The dressing room,” Luffy grins, and uses two hands to shove through the doors. Sanji follows straight after him.

“Luffy, bro!”

Something tall and topped with a bright blue swirl engulfs Sanji’s vision.

“Franky! ‘Sup!” Luffy, and what turns out to be a bulky, blue haired man, bump fists.

“Who’s this?” The man, whose name Sanji supposes must be Franky, looks to him.

Franky’s certainly tall, on the good half of six foot. His eyebrows are long and stern, but his smile is broad and easy. An angular jaw and chin match an equally angular nose, and dark eyelashes stand out even on his tan cheeks. Despite his looming figure and harsh features, he has a friendly vibe going on. Sanji’s eyes move down to twin star tattoos on his forearms which are an inked on in a deep indigo colour.

And then, he notices the man’s legs. Or rather, the legs that he has attached. All that remains of Franky’s original legs are the tops of his thighs, which are currently peeking out of sunny yellow speedos with orange stars covering them. Joined to his thighs are a pair of prosthetic legs. They’re blue and white and a mix of materials like chrome, plastic and rubber. Some stylized silver bolts at the knee make Sanji wonder if those are for show or practicality. Intricate heels disappear into a pair of sneakers.

“This is Sanji, our new bartender!” Luffy beams.

“So you’re our new bartender? That’s SUPER!” Franky proceeds to clap Sanji on the back, and he covers a choking sound with a cough.

Sanji eyes Franky’s speedos and his hawaiian shirt which is completely unbuttoned.

“Thanks. So, are you a bouncer, or….?”

Franky glances down at himself, and then chuckles at Sanji. “Oh, what I’m wearing? This isn’t a costume or anything. I just don’t like to be constricted!”

“Unlike so many others,” comes a purr from behind Franky.

The blue haired man looks over his shoulder and shakes his head a little, but his eyebrows give a wiggle as he does so. “Ace, it’s too early to be making innuendos.”

Sanji peers around Franky to see the freckled stripper lounging on a bench by a row of lockers.

“Any time is a good time to be making innuendos.”

“Franky, you should get changed into something more _appropriate_ for a bouncer, we open in fifteen minutes. Pants time,” a female voice calls from behind the row of lockers.

There are two rows of lockers, with benches in between. The small room would seem like a high school gym's changing room, except for opposite the row of lockers, there are vanity tables. Rows of round bulbs light up large mirrors which span the wall. A few clothing racks on wheels are dotted around, with glittering, colourful garments swinging from coat hangers. Feathery things are draped around the vanity tables here and there, and some of the table tops are clustered by makeup and perfume bottles.

Franky sighs. “Pants time sucks. I'd prefer innuendo time.”

Nami walks around the side of the lockers, the voice having belonged to her. She puts one hand on her hip, and points a painted finger at Ace. “And _you_ need to change too.”

Ace puts his hands up. “I’m on it.”

Franky mopes toward a locker, where he presumably has a pair of trousers lying in wait.

“Where’s Chopper?” Luffy asks. Sanji has no idea who he’s talking about.

“Usopp says he’s cramming for a test.” Nami sighs. “Kid works too hard. Anyway, I’m going to set the sound system up, and Usopp should be here very soon to get the lights going. Excuse me.” She strides out of the room, the heels of her sandals clicking against the floor. Sanji watches her go longingly.

He and Luffy also extract themselves from the dressing room. Sanji is shown a few fridges in the back where chilled beer is kept, and a staff toilet which has no room to breathe in but is blessedly private and far away from the madness of the club. There’s a tiny office in the back too, with a stack of paperwork on the desk and a filing cabinet taking up a fifth of the space. Sanji assumes that’s where Nami keeps everything.

Lastly, Luffy shows him the kitchen which sits across the hall from the dressing room.

Sanji glances through the porthole window in the door. The kitchen is small, like all these back rooms, but looks pretty well equipped. It’s mostly stainless steel inside. Luffy informs him they’ve never used it, and this is apparent. With everything put away, and no people working in it, it’s emptiness makes Sanji feel a little sad.

They walk back out into the club and Luffy informs him that the other, nondescript doorway by the booths leads to two private rooms.

“What are they for?”

Luffy shrugs. “People can rent them out for say, birthday parties and things. We have strippers that will put on private shows for groups, or sometimes, just one customer. It pays pretty well.”

Sanji is struck with a vision of _'The Paradise Suite’_ from the movie Closer. Honestly, he's probably not far off.

Luffy then gives him a largely unhelpful rundown of everything in the bar, but Sanji is sure he can figure things out for himself. It’s fairly straightforward.

He rolls his sleeves up and rests his elbows on the counter, leaning forward.

Franky is stood by the entrance now, shirt done up and wearing a pair of shorts. They still appear to be swimwear but they’re at least practical. Sanji can hear a chattering of voices outside.

With a vibration, he feels the music start up, the bass humming through the floorboards.

His hands feel restless. He wishes he had a cigarette between them, or between his teeth, as Franky lets the first few patrons in. Rowdy laughter filters through the thrum of the beat in the air.

 

—

 

It’s way too hot.

Sanji’s sleeves can’t be rolled up any further, and he doesn’t have time to sit down and cool off because he’s mixing and serving drinks at an alarming rate.

It’s probably all the running around he’s doing in this muggy atmosphere. Bodies dance in a sea before him, with lights moving over them in erratic waves. There are so many people Sanji doubts you’d find a free square metre of space to sneeze in.

Or maybe it’s the company. The amount of bare skin Sanji has seen is making his own skin feverish.

“Managing okay? You seem to be doing great,” says a familiar voice. Nami has slid onto one of the bar stools and lets out a sigh.

“Yes, I am! How sweet of you to ask and worry about me. I expected nothing less of you course, my lovely Nami!”

Cool as ever, she largely ignores everything he’s said. She glances over her shoulder at the stage, and then turns back to him. “Now that the Merry’s filled up, Ace will be on soon—everyone will kinda get distracted by him, so you should be able to slow down and catch your breath. Opening’s always hectic at the bar.”

Sanji nods. “As I have noticed.” As soon as he says this, a pair of girls and a guy with them rush up to the bar. “Excuse me,” he tells Nami.

After serving the girls mojitos and sliding their friend a beer, he returns to Nami’s side.

“So, Ace is that good, huh? Luffy said he was popular.”

“Oh, he’s popular all right. You’ll see why s—” Nami is cut off by a raucous cheer. It erupts from the crowd, rivaling the sound of the music. She smirks. “You’ll see why now.”

Sure enough, the black curtain is parting, and Ace himself becomes just visible. A couple of girls near the bar squeal and grip each other’s arms. They’re saying something Sanji can’t catch. Strobe lights lick over the crowd.

“What’s that they’re saying…?”

“Fire Wrist Ace.” Nami accepts the glass of lemon lime and bitters he serves her.

“Fire.. wrist.. Ace?”

“It’s his stage name.”

“Wh—”

“Just watch.”

And so watch him, Sanji does.

Numerous coloured lights have honed in on the stage and Sanji has a clearer view.

Ace is circling the pole. His hips swing in a practiced way as he walks, lithe muscles flexing under skin. Oh, and there is so much skin.

He’s wearing what seems to be a cowboy costume. An orange and red cowboy’s hat—a Stetson, Sanji thinks they’re called—sits on his head, the cord tickling his collar bones. Most of the upper half of his body is exposed. A black leather vest that’s fully open cuts off at his ribs, and a tan leather cuff circles his right bicep. Sanji wants to hit his head on the counter when he gets an eyeful of the guy’s abs.

Ace must have put on some kind of metallic body paint, because his skin is shimmering like it’s covered with a layer of molten gold. He really does look divine, like he could be half Greek god.

An orange belt with studs wraps low around his hips letting his hipbones peek out. The belt seems redundant considering how tight the shorts Ace is wearing are—the small amount of fabric is dark and glittery. Bands that match the one on his arm circle his ankles, and one wraps around his thigh. He’s barefooted.  
As he bends down facing away, Sanji is treated to a view of man’s naked thighs and more. Ace comes up out of the stretch, and in a graceful movement, he slides the vest off behind him. It falls away, discarded.

His back muscles are just as impressive.

Ace turns to face the front, and tips his hat back a little. He bends down again, meeting the crowd with burning eyes and a grin just as ferocious and alluring. He doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches down to the wrist of one hand with the other. Sanji notices shining hoops around his wrists that he hadn’t seen before.

In a smooth movement that Sanji’s eyes can’t catch, Ace flicks something on the bracelet.

A ring of flames is burning around his wrist and Sanji gasps.

“Don’t worry,” Nami reassures him. He can still barely hear it over the excited cheering of the crowd. Lots of people are sitting on or leaning against the couches circling the stage.

Ace has begun to really move.

With a knee hooked around the pole, he’s twirling, and his blazing wrist leaves an impression of fire in the air, branding it with spirals of light. Sanji is sure the patterns are burning onto his retinas too, but he doesn’t blink to find out. His eyes are trained on Ace as he winds down, moving smoothly into a crouch.

He moves his wrist of flames along his thighs, muscles bunched as he shifts his weight, stretching each leg out in turn. With another fast movement his hand grips the pole, and Sanji can only follow it because of the fiery trail. Both hands now gripping the pole, Ace swings himself parallel to it in an impressive display of upper arm strength, and then wraps it between his thighs. The hand with the burning wrist is never still, and Sanji sees Ace move it to the other hand as he leans back. Abs ripple and glitter as he stretches down with his hands above his head, hat almost slipping off, but he pulls himself upright just in time.  
Both wrists are now adorned with rings of flames, and Ace twists around the pole, leaving more burning patterns. He lands cat-like on his feet to deafening applause.

With rocking hips, he starts a dance, exploring his own body with his hands.

It’s incredibly difficult when Sanji has to tear his eyes away to serve someone.

Two customers are given cocktails and Sanji returns his attentions to Ace.

The belt is coming off.

It apparently _was_ doing something to hold up the shorts, because they come off shortly after, while Ace is flipping himself on the pole.

He’s wearing red sequinned boxers with high cut backs and lace sides. Sanji almost averts his eyes from Ace’s ass in modesty. _Almost_.

Another cocktail, two shots, and three beers served later, Sanji watches Ace slide onto the ground with his legs splayed. Leaning back, his bracelets are flicked off and the flames die out, and when he arches up off the floor he smirks.

Another customer orders a martini and while Sanji shakes it for them, he watches Ace strut around the sides of the stage. He stops here and there, extending his right leg gracefully, letting people slip bills into his leather thigh brace. Some hands linger. He seems relaxed, even if he’s lightly glistening with sweat from the routine.

Sanji turns to Nami. “Well, that was… pretty intense.”

She smiles at him. “My—Vivi’s on next.”

“Vivi? A girl?”

“Yes, a girl, Sanji. God. I’ll introduce you guys later if you promise to be normal.”

“I’m always on my best behaviour around ladies.”

“You know what I mean.”

Sanji doesn't know what she means. "So, what's her stage name?"

"The Desert Princess."

Sounds dreamy. "Is there any particular reason stage names are used?"

Nami nods. "It's kind of a privacy thing. Ace is the only one with his own name in it. That's partly because he doesn't care, and partly because he doesn't think anyone will believe Ace is his real name anyway."

Luffy comes barreling up to the bar in the next moment. A man is behind him that Sanji doesn't recognise. His skin is a deep olive colour, and his afro is pulled back into a ponytail and pushed under a tan bandana. Glasses sit upon an impressively long nose. He sits at the bar beside Luffy and Nami.

“Sanji! How’s it going?” Luffy tilts forward excitedly, propped up on his elbows.

“Great,” Sanji replies. “Who’s your friend?”

“That would be me, Usopp,” the guy raises a hand. “ _Pretty much_ the one man keeping this show on the road, if you know what I mean. I’m a technical and sound genius, not to mention, the club’s best stripper _and_ the most fearsome bouncer ever to guard a club.”

Nami rolls her eyes. “That’s a third true. Usopp _is_ a great tech. He set up all our gear.”

“Hey! The bouncer part was true also!”

Nami looks to him witheringly. “You’re the most un-fearsome bouncer I know.”

“Cruel.” Usopp frowns. “Anyway, nice to meet you, Sanji.”

Sanji shakes his extended hand. “And you.”

Some whoops from the crowd have the group turning their heads.

A girl has strode out onto the stage. Pink strobe light falls on her pretty face and her cheeks sparkle. A waterfall of hair rivaling the electric blue of Franky’s is pulled up into a high ponytail on her head. Her outfit seems to mirror it in a way, blue silk with ruffles and waves. It’s a belly dancer's outfit, with gold accents that shimmer as she moves under the lights. Sheer fabric falls from where it’s joined to her wrists from her shoulders, and it dances like it has a will of it's own as she twists her arms. Her exposed stomach sports a belly button piercing with a sapphire stone.

Sanji wants to punch the customer who orders a whiskey shot in that moment.

He pours it and then gets stuck mixing more orders. When all is served he returns his attention to Vivi.

Her dance is just as fluid as Ace’s was, but where his was heated and fast paced, Vivi’s is slower and languid.

Fluttering blue fabric is a soft distraction and she moves her arms and hips as if she was really made of water. Holding the pole lightly with one arm, she circles it. The fabric under her arms billows like ship’s sails and she slows, turning to the side. She bends and runs a hand up her leg, parting her skirt, and revealing almost every inch of her thigh. It vanishes just as quickly and she dances away.

Sanji is rethinking his choice of occupation. He can’t handle this, he has enough sexual tension as it is without watching these kinds of things every night.

His train of thought is halted when he notices a man is leaning by Nami. Instinctively, he listens in. It's not difficult to hear, despite the pulse of the music reverberating everywhere.

“You’re a lovely little thing, aren’t you? Could I buy you for tonight, sweetheart? Even for a quickie, I'd pay well.”

Every fine hair on Sanji’s neck bristles. He senses Usopp and Luffy, who had been talking to each other on the opposite side of Nami, freeze.

Nami’s eyes go dead and cold faster than Sanji has ever seen a person’s. All the blood drains from her face.

Before he can react, faster than he can blink, Luffy has a fist in the guy’s shirt. “What the fuck did you just say to her?”

A green light flashes across the man's shocked face for a second. He raises his hands and splutters. “I was just—offering—“

Luffy is terrifying in a way Sanji could never have pictured. His eyes are fixed on the man and blacker than ever in the dim light. His voice is low, sombre, and dangerous when he speaks. “Get out of my club. Right now. And don’t _ever_ talk to one of my friends like that again.” Luffy shoves him off and the man gasps.

Usopp is gripping the bar with one hand, still standing in the same position as he was when he shot upright at the man’s words.

Sanji moves over to Nami. Her hands are shaking slightly around the glass she holds and her eyes are unfocused.

“Nami, are you oka—“ he reaches out to her and she flinches.

“Don’t touch me!” She looks up at him, properly, and exhales. Quietly, she repeats herself. “Please don’t touch me.”

“Let’s go into the back, Nami,” Usopp says gently. The nod of her head could be easily missed.

Usopp walks backward watching her. When she follows, arms folded around herself, he seems satisfied. They disappear into the door by the bar, presumably to the locker room or Nami’s office.

Sanji looks to Luffy who also has his arms crossed, that hard expression still on his face. Luffy glances at him.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll go check. You stay here minding the bar.” Luffy follows them in.

Sanji starts cleaning glasses. Of all things, he hates feeling helpless or useless.

Luffy comes back out less than a minute looking perfectly normal, as if nothing had happened. “Usopp’s just talking to Nami about stuff. She’s fine!”

Sanji exhales. “That’s good to hear. What was…” He’s about to ask what that was all about, but he experiences a strange feeling, as if he’s prying into things. “Actually, don’t worry. Nami can tell me later if she wants.”

Luffy’s focus has been pulled away and he lets out an _“ooouoh!”_

Vivi’s routine has finished and another dancer is starting.

Sanji’s eyes move to the stage.

The man who has just walked out has a completely different feel from the previous dancers. He looks _incredibly_ fit, but doesn't seem the slim and flexible type. Sanji thinks he has the build of a football player and not a dancer. While he’d very much like to say the man’s body is flawless, it’s striped with imperfections in the form of scars. One runs right across toned abs and pectorals, from his hip to his shoulder.

His skin is a deep tan colour and his hair is inexplicably the colour of moss. _Is dying your hair unnatural colours a thing with people here?_

Gold earrings dangle from his left ear. His head is turning now, to survey the crowd, and Sanji’s breath is caught in his throat as he sees the man’s irises are a deep gold that match his earrings.

Sanji’s all too easily reminded of a tiger. The gaze is that of a predator, and he thinks it’s sort of beautiful.

As soon as he thinks this, he wants to hit himself over the head. The guy is not his type at all. In fact, he’s probably the opposite of Sanji’s type. Sanji likes made up, delicate people with silky hair and smooth skin: this man is rough and raw.

And yet, he’s oddly drawn to him.

Perhaps it’s _because_ he’s so different.

The man’s outfit is simplistic, but still extra enough to be a stripper’s costume. Black leather shorts grip tightly to his lower body, a matching belt around his hips. The top of a black silk undergarment rides above his waistline, just visible. Similarly, dark suspenders run from inside his shorts to the tops of leather thigh garters which have buckles, like a strap.

The strangest thing of all is the swords.

One katana is tied to his belt, and he holds the other two in his hand.

Luffy drops himself on a barstool once more. “Zoro’s routine is so cool!”

“Zoro?”

“Yeah, he’s also our friend! Zoro, Usopp and Chopper all flat together. Me, Nami and Vivi, those guys, we’ve all been friends for ages.” Luffy tilts his head a bit. “Well, actually, we met Chopper recently. But the rest of us have been close for years. Anyway, you’ve gotta watch this!”

What Sanji has actually _got_ to do, is his job. By the time he’s mixed and served a couple cocktails, two katanas have been unsheathed.

At first, Zoro moves slowly and carefully. His stance is combative, and the dance seems almost ceremonial.

Without damaging the stage, he presses the tip of one katana to the floor and bends at the waist. Stretching his muscles, one arm reaches beside the katana’s point and one is extended up backward. He changes arms.

When he straightens up, he begins moving faster, still stepping in a practiced fashion. He swipes through the air with his swords, crouching and turning and making a flowing dance of it. The movements are full of bends and arches. It's mesmerising.

Sanji soon realises he was oh-so-wrong about Zoro’s flexibility.

 _And_ the man's fitness exceeds expectations.

Zoro’s now holding himself to the pole with his thighs wrapped around it, upside down. He twists from the very top to the bottom, somehow righting himself in one of the turns and ending with swords crossed and crouched on his feet.

Someone orders a margarita and Sanji makes a mental note to ask Nami about stocking limes, as margaritas are vastly improved if you blend fresh lime pulp into them.

By the time he looks up to see the third katana _in Zoro’s mouth,_ he has abandoned logic and reason. It's conjuring some interesting images that he fails to repress.

The belt that the katana was tied to has come off.

Zoro swings the two katana in his hands up, and they pinwheel into the air, much to the crowd’s shock. Some of the people closer to the stage shy away and there are gasps.

“Ugh, I thought I told him not to do that.”

Sanji turns to see Nami sliding onto a stool and placing a hand in her chin. Usopp is behind her.

“Nami, how are—”

“I’m fine. I see you’ve met our reckless idiot.”

Sanji looks back to the stage. The swords had only turned twice in the air before coming back down, and Zoro has deftly caught them. They balance perfectly on his upper arms.

With another jerking motion he flips them off, and catches them by the hilt. Applause and cheers rip from the audience and Sanji thinks the man looks rather smug.

Next, Zoro takes both swords, and slides them down the front of his shorts. Sanji is mortified for a second as Zoro turns the blades from the flat side, but in the next moment, the shorts rip open cleanly. They’ve obviously been designed to come open in two neat lines down the front and Sanji wonders how he hadn’t noticed the seam. He guesses he was busy looking at… other things.

Zoro’s shorts have slid down. He tosses them away with his ankle.

The suspenders that attach to his buckled garters stretch up and clip to a black garterbelt that’s mostly sheer, with opaque stripes. His boxers are black silk.

“...Sanji? Earth to Sanji.”

He looks to Usopp who is waving a hand in front of his face.

“What, sorry?”

“Big group’s just come in.” He shrugs a shoulder toward them.

Sanji is soon bogged under with requests for beers, and then spends no small amount of time refilling shot glasses for the men.

By the time he looks back to the stage, all the katana are once again sheathed.

Zoro doesn’t parade around for tips like Ace had. It strikes Sanji that indeed, he hadn’t smiled and flirted like Ace or Vivi either. He’d looked, for the most part, very concentrated on his routine.

Sanji wonders if it’s that, or his rather rough edged appearance, that makes his routine less popular. It’s certainly as impressive as Ace’s.

Before Zoro leaves the stage through the curtain, presumably back to the dressing room, he turns his head toward the bar where they all sit.

His gaze lands on Sanji, the odd one out. It’s an approximating stare. Sanji swallows.

He realises he’d been staring right at Zoro when the man looked over to him. Regardless, he doesn’t look away now.

Those gold eyes burn into him for a moment, and then Zoro disappears through the black fabric of the curtain.

Sanji wonders, not for the first time, if he knows what he’s got himself into.

 

 

A Luffy I drew from chap 1! my art blog is dollcedraws.tumblr.com  
Next chapter will likely feature Ace and Zoro's costumes :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really excited to share everyone's backstories with you guys, i've put a lot of thought into everything! i love canon parallels
> 
> also fire Wrist ace tell me i'm funny
> 
> also okay i'm a huge sucker for overly romantic zosan, but i feel like the whole love-at-first-sight thing is just unrealistic for this. but definitely, both zoro and sanji know right away somethings is different, and they're drawn to each other as always...


	3. Fast And Significantly Less Furious Than Intended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! this update came a little late and I apologise. I'm pretty busy with my final year of high school so I'm thinking I'll start updating twice a month, instead of weekly, because I could manage that easier and I don't wanna disappoint you guys. thank you for all the nice comments so far they motivate me a lot!!  
> enjoy this chap ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Zoro pulls his clean t-shirt over his head. The cotton is comfortable and familiar, like the jeans he now wears. He checks that his katana are safe in the large sport bag, diagonally dominating the space of his locker, before closing it with a soft metallic rattle.

Zipping his duffel bag, he scoops up the garter belt set he’d worn for his routine. Unsure of where to leave the garters and sheer belt, he dumps them on one of the vanity tables and sends a silent apology to Chopper for always leaving the dressing room in a mess.

His younger flatmate coordinated their costumes, and oversaw the organisation of the dressing room. A large part of this was cleaning up the room and hanging things on racks. And it was completely out of charity too: as well as studying as a med student, he came into the Merry without being officially employed.

Zoro supposed Chopper felt rather indebted to the group. Luffy had met him at a seminar about microsurgery—god knows why Luffy was there, he’d probably got lost and thought microsurgery sounded cool, or completely mistaken it for another thing, or both—and had discovered Chopper: a new arrival to the city who hadn’t found a place to stay, and was going to Grandline University this semester on a scholarship. Which Luffy had thought was super cool, because Chopper had only just turned 17, and Luffy was convinced he was some kind of child genius. Which Zoro had to agree wasn’t far off. The kid would protest furiously against this, but the ferocity of his blush gave him away.

Luffy befriending strangers was like rain falling from the sky, and in a few days, Chopper had been set up to share Zoro and Usopp’s flat with them.

On top of feeling obligated, Zoro thought Chopper genuinely liked helping out at the Merry, and he certainly had an eye for costume design.

Pushing through the white double doors of the dressing room, Zoro can already hear the buzz of the club. He was on stage last, though, so it’s late and the sounds are being gradually subdued.

His eyes adjust to the inside of the Merry as he presses through the next door, into the club itself. The strobe lights moving wildly over the dance floor are slightly overwhelming, and he makes his way over to the steady glow of the bar, light amplified by the mirror behind the rows of bottles.

Something is not so familiar, though.

The man he’d noticed before is still there. His blond hair is fine, silky, and the colour of straw. Bright, fluorescent light makes a halo around it, and the outlining continues around him to exaggerate his slim silhouette. A button up which looks the colour of sea foam is tucked neatly into the waistband of black slacks, but Zoro supposes in natural light it would appear more blue.

The man’s laughing, surrounded by Zoro’s friends who seem equally entertained, and Zoro almost stops still.

His teeth are perfect, his jaw has a 5 o'clock shadow of stubble, and his expression is so pure and open with childish mirth that Zoro wants to look away.

 

—

 

Ace collapses onto a bar stool. He’s changed out of his costume, and is now wearing black jeans and a white singlet, traces of glitter still on his skin. A container of toothpicks, used to skewer fruits or olives in a margarita, sits on the inside of the counter. He draws one and sticks it between his teeth. _A fidgeter._

“Would you like something to drink?” Sanji asks him.

“Water would be great, please, Sanji,”

That’s probably the most courtesy Sanji has heard all night. He ceases the seemingly endless task of cleaning glasses and neatly folds the towel he was using.

The club is quieting down, and though it’s nowhere near a level of decibels Sanji could call _quiet,_ he can at least hear himself think. Midnight has passed and the crowd grows steadily sparser as the time approaches 1 a.m.

Sanji has been thinking longingly of the taste of tobacco for hours now.

Ace thanks him for the iced water when he hands it over.

“Did you like my routine?” He says around a grin.

Sanji resumes the cleaning of glasses, his back turned. “Yeah, it was really h—really good.”

He can’t see Ace but he has a feeling the man is smirking. At this point, Sanji’s lost count of how many times he’s wanted to smack his head against the counter. He is saved by a passing thought. “Oh, yeah, your bracelets. How come they don’t burn you?”

“They’re designed to be worn so they're pretty safe. The heat is actually not intense, flames just look flashy. Plus I use a fireproofing liquid around my wrists. It’d burn off but I keep moving fast enough, so it’s not a problem.”

Sanji nods.

“So,” Ace removes the toothpick from his mouth and takes a sip of his water. “Did you have a favourite routine?”

An image of muscles rippling under tan skin decorated with scars passes through his mind. He can see the flash of swords with clarity.

The genuine curiosity and good-naturedness of Ace’s tone tells Sanji that he’s not asking in the hopes of hearing his own name. And yet, he feels a reluctance to share the truth.

“A favourite? Not really.”

“Vivi’s cute, isn’t she?”

Sanji can be as honest as he wants on this topic. “Hell yes, she looked like a goddess. Is she—”

A snort comes from Sanji’s left. The source is Usopp, who spins onto a stool beside Ace. “Don’t let Nami hear you two discussing this.”

“Why not?”

“Vivi’s her girlfriend.”

Sanji jaw drops a little and he quickly closes it. He turns on Ace, trying to ignore the lamenting in his heart that both Nami and Vivi are spoken for. “You set me up for that!”

Ace only smiles at him over a sip of his drink.

“What are you boys up to?” Nami’s voice cuts in suspiciously, and Sanji jumps a little. Usopp hides a grin behind his hand.

“I was just asking Sanji whose routine he liked best,” Ace provides. _Well, it’s not a lie._

It is Nami’s turn to snort. “You needn’t ask.”

Ace raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Sanji suddenly feels like the room has got a few degrees hotter. He tugs at his collar and wishes for the millionth time he had a cigarette. “Would you like a drink, Usopp? Nami?”

“Coke and rum for me.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Nami says as she slides in beside Ace. “Designated driver.”

“You were saying?” Ace turns his head to her.

“Ah, yes. Sanji looked practically _lovestruck_ during Zoro’s routine.”

“I did not!” Sanji nearly spills the coke as he protests. He doesn’t, though. He can’t remember the last time he spilled a drink or dropped food.

“I had to say your name five times to get your attention.” A smug look settles on Usopp’s features as Sanji slides him his drink.

“I was thinking about something else.”

No one has a chance to call bullshit on his statement because at that moment, Luffy arrives at high velocity, demanding Sanji serve him a root beer. Nami makes a face.

He drinks three cans of root beer in the span of two minutes.

Nami’s disgust is apparent and Sanji has to agree with her—root beer is foul stuff. Luffy seems to adore it.

Halfway through his next enthusiastic swig, the fizz from the freshly opened can tickles his nose, and Luffy sneezes, soda shooting violently from his nostrils as he does.

Everyone explodes with laughter. Sanji wishes he’d had that moment on camera as he struggles to breathe through racks of laughter.

An unfamiliar, masculine voice perpetrates their conversation. “Hey, bar boy, can I get a drink?”

Sanji turns his head and— _oh_.

It’s the man named Zoro. And he has no manners.

“Can I get a please?” Sanji replies disdainfully.

Zoro make a hard sort of face before his features slip into a smile of mock charm. “ _Pretty please_ , whiskey on the rocks, _with a cherry on top_?”

“Also, I am not a ba—”

“ZORO!” Luffy smacks down his fourth emptied can of root beer, causing the aluminium base to crumple and sag sadly. “This is Sanji! Our new bartender!”

It’s going to be hard for Sanji to live the bar boy thing down if Luffy keeps introducing him as a bartender.

“Ah, of course.” Zoro sits himself at the counter. “New bartender. Let me guess, you met him just yesterday?”

Luffy’s eyes widen like he’s just seen a magic trick. “How did you know?!”

As the group laughs again, Sanji moves to make Zoro’s drink. The ice cubes crack in protest as they make contact with the whiskey. Before he closes the mini fridge beneath the counter, his eyes catch sight of a punnet of maraschino cherries meant for decorating cocktails. He grins.

“Your drink, moss head.”

All eyes fall on the glass of amber whiskey Sanji holds out to Zoro, a bright red cherry topping it like a sundae and looking comically out of place.

Laughter erupts. Much to Sanji’s delight, Zoro’s face flushes a red that rivals the cherry.

“Asshole,” he mutters, taking the glass from Sanji and plucking the cherry out.

“ _Ooh_ , I’ll have it!” Luffy snatches it up and pops it in his mouth. “ _Fad reminf me,”_ he mumbles around the cherry before swallowing, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Nami looks at him dryly. “Which I have accounted for. Vivi went to get pizza, I let her borrow my car.”

Luffy and Usopp share an enthusiastic high five as they begin to chant _“Pizza!”_ repeatedly. Sanji steals a glance at Zoro as he tilts his head back to finish his drink. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. Sanji looks away.

“Hey, Nami,” he gets the attention of the accountant.

“Yeah?”

“Can I go have a smoking break now? We’re closing up soon, right?”

Nami looks over her shoulder. “Should be, yeah. Go ahead. In fact, I’ll tell Franky to close up shop now.”

Sanji slips out of the bar and into the hallway, following the short corridor to the Merry’s back entrance.

It’s gotten cold outside.

The air nips at his exposed skin as he lights a cigarette, and as soon as he’s taken the first drag he slumps against the back of the building. His legs are aching; he hadn’t noticed before now, but the muscles are tired from standing up for hours on end.

He’s almost gotten halfway through his cigarette when he notices the third motorcycle, a new addition to the array of Staff vehicles.

It’s parked beside Ace’s, uncovered, and just as impressive. The wide handlebars are like bull’s horns and upholstery is black leather. The paint job shines luminescent dark green, like a beetle’s shell. Its tyres are thicker than Ace’s bike’s, and Sanji thinks being run over by them would crack his ribcage like an egg shell.

He grinds the filter of his finished cigarette into the pavement and makes his way back inside.

The music has been turned down so it’s pleasantly thrumming in the background.

Franky is shooing out the last of the dancers, a woman supporting her friend who is having difficulty navigating her way out of the door, and in fact, standing upright. Sanji might remember her face.

Luffy is whining loudly about his hunger. Sanji’s only just had a cigarette, but suddenly his hands are itching for another. _It’s fine,_ he tells himself. _Luffy probably says he’s hungry all the time. You’ve seen how much he eats. Food will be here soon._

“You alright, bar boy?” Zoro is looking right at him, and Sanji might interpret his expression for that of concern.

“ _Don’t_ call me bar boy. I am a bartender here, yes. But I am a cook. And, I am _not_ a boy.”

Sanji hates being called boy. Or waiter. He feels like he’s ten years old again, cleaning dishes or serving assholes, desperately trying to prove to Zeff that he should work in the kitchen.

“Whatever you say.”

“Glad we’re clear on that.”

Zoro looks like he has something to say in reply but is interrupted by the whooping of Luffy and Usopp, who are rushing over to a walking stack of pizza boxes.

Enough of the boxes are snatched away by eager hands and smiling, heart shaped face becomes visible. It’s Vivi, blue ponytail bouncing and laden with pizzas.

The boxes are spread out on the counter in record time, opened to offer up their contents, melted cheese making mouths water.

“Hey babe,” Nami presses a kiss to Vivi’s cheek as the other girl slumps down by her, still smiling.

The arrows that had sailed through Sanji’s heart when he first saw the women are pulled out painfully, and he deflates a little. He’s consoled by the fact that they are adorably sweet together, and he figures that it’s good enough for him if the two lovely ladies are happy with each other. He helps himself to a slice of pizza.

The buzz of the club has been replaced by the smaller, but no less rowdy buzz of the Merry’s staff. Ace is laughing as Usopp chokes on a slice of pepperoni, Luffy has surrounded himself with three meat lover’s pizzas which are half gone already, Nami and Vivi are chatting and Franky is guzzling a bottle of Coca Cola which Sanji is certain he didn’t hand him. Zoro appears to be studiously selecting his next piece of pizza.

And the people whose names he’s heard mentioned, Chopper and Robin, aren’t even here tonight.

Ace is moving through servings of pizza at a rate that rivals Luffy’s, and if it came down to a competition, Sanji thinks perhaps Ace could give Luffy a run for his money. The freckled man is halfway through a bite of cheese pizza when his eyes close suddenly and he droops over at the waist, forehead hitting the counter. Alarm rushes through Sanji’s body.

Everybody laughs.

“Quick, quick!” Usopp waves a hand. “Somebody take a picture on their phone!”

“Um,” Sanji stares at the man. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, this happens all the time,” Nami reassures him. “Just passes out cold while eating.”

Vivi is covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh dear, poor Ace… It’s kind of funny though… at least his face isn’t in the food this time.”

“Chopper absolutely freaked the first time he saw it happen,” Usopp is chuckling. “He was practically in tears. We had to stop him from calling an ambulance. Even after Ace woke up, he insisted on giving him an examination. Says he doesn’t think it’s narcolepsy, but he can’t explain it. Oh, damn, we missed our chance.”

Ace sits up and blinks once or twice, and then takes another bite of the pizza which is still in his hand.

Sanji’s jaw drops. “And he’s just gonna keep eating like nothing happened?!”

The group is drowned in laughter once again and Ace pushes his hair out of his face like he’s just taken a quick and comfy nap, smiling warmly as he selects another slice.

The atmosphere stays friendly and lively as the boxes are emptied to cooling cardboard, left with nothing but crumbs. It’s a nice balance, keeping Sanji’s restlessness at bay but keeping him mostly relaxed all the same.

It’s half past one when Sanji comes in from his second smoking break. Nami’s delicate hand is holding out a fistful of plastic straws.

Sanji, following in suit of everyone, picks one out.

“Okay!” She says brightly. “Who’s got the short straws?”

Sanji looks down at the straw in his hand and it’s not hard to tell it’s had it’s bottom quarter cut off. It’s just his luck he pulls one of the short straws and lands cleaning duty his first day on the job. “I have one.”

“Ah, bad luck.” Nami beams at him and it almost slips by Sanji that by offering straws she’s removed herself from the pool. “Who has the other?”

“...I do.”

Sanji looks up to see Zoro staring at a stunted straw pinched between two of his fingers.

“Great! I’ll leave you two to clean up, then. Sanji, Zoro can show you what you to do. And Zoro, make sure to turn all the lights off and lock up when you leave.”

“Um,” Sanji gets the feeling his ride is about to tail it out of the vicinity. “How will I get home?”

“Oh, Zoro can give you a ride home, _right Zoro_?” Nami smiles sweetly at the tanned man who crosses his arms over his chest.

“You brought him, why can’t you take him home?”

“Well, if I’m driving Vivi, Usopp and Luffy home, I don’t have room in the car.”

“Luffy could go with Ace.”

“Okay, but I’m not waiting around while you two clean up. It’s getting late and I want to go home and get my beauty sleep, you know.”

“ _Beauty_ sl—”

Sanji thinks something ungracious is about to come out of Zoro’s mouth, directed at Nami, and he won’t stand for that. “It’s fine, Nami, you go home. I’ll just get a ride with Zoro.”

“Wonderful!” She claps her hands together.

“Wonderful.” Zoro says with a tone that indicates he does not find it so.

Franky is first to depart, and he is followed by Ace who nods at Sanji, Luffy who claps him on the back and punches Zoro playfully in the shoulder, Vivi who smiles kindly at them both and Nami who waves over her shoulder.

Sanji puts his hands on his hips. He looks to Zoro. “So?”

Zoro rubs the back of his neck. “Let’s start with the bathrooms, they’re always the worst. I’ll grab the cleaning supplies from the back room.”

He’s not wrong. The women's bathrooms are manageable, and mostly hygienic, but the men’s are stickier than Sanji would prefer. He hopes that what he’s mopping up is spilt drinks, but his nose tells him different. When he finishes by wiping down everything using antibacterial soap, he feels something close to satisfaction, but closer to relief.

Zoro works silently, only grunting out instructions when necessary.

They move onto wiping down the tables at the booths, and subsequently the booth’s seats.

After sweeping the floors, Sanji is directed toward the back room with the brooms while Zoro lugs the black rubbish bag of debris out to the trash.

Sanji is washing his hands at the bar’s sink vigorously when Zoro returns, having also locked the front entrance.

The other man snorts and the closest thing to a smile Sanji’s seen on his face appears, even if it’s just the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“What, is hygiene funny to you?”

“Not at all.” Zoro walks around to the bar and presses a dollop of soap into his palm. “It’s just the intensity of your hand washing I find amusing.”

“The bathrooms were gross. I feel like I need a whole shower just to get clean myself.”

Zoro moves to rinse his hands in the sink and his hip touches Sanji’s. Sanji quickly moves to find a towel.

“You’re perfectly clean, it’s all in your head.”

Sanji refrains from mumbling something about that not making a difference. After drying his hands he offers the towel to Zoro, but the man just wipes his hands on his jeans. Sanji folds the towel and tucks it under the counter, feeling Zoro’s eyes on him.

He straightens up and coughs. “Shall we go?”

Zoro gives a stiff nod. Sanji follows him through the door out to the back entrance. He steals one last glance at the clinically white, bright hallway, before Zoro flicks off all the lights on the switchboard by the door and it plunges into darkness.

It’s almost as dark outside. The street lights have dimmed a little, and the sky would be pitch black except for the light pollution. The city is awake, though, and alive with noise. Sanji wonders if it ever sleeps, or if it’s just the downtown district that’s in a timeless sort of state.

Zoro locks the door behind them and drops the keys into his duffel, while Sanji surveys the empty parking lot.

“Where’s... your car?”

Zoro does smile then, and it’s not full, but at least Sanji knows he has the ability. It’s more dangerous, and certainly more attractive, than he’s comfortable with.

“There is my _car._ ” Zoro points a finger and Sanji follows it to the shadow of the building where the motorcycles are parked. Ace’s is gone. His eyes fall to rest on the large, dark one he’d seen before. _Ah._

Zoro is shrugging a leather jacket over his shoulders. He pulls two helmets from his duffel bag and shoves one into Sanji’s arms. “You’ll need that.”

Sanji looks down at the helmet in his hands. The inside is padded. He watches as Zoro kicks the support from under his bike and grips the handlebars. He then straddles it, and with a foot on the ground, slides the helmet over his head. The visor is open.

He holds the duffel bag out to Sanji. “Can you take this? It’s easier if you wear it, just tuck it behind your back.”

Sanji takes it from him, and is swinging a leg over the bike in a swift movement.

He’s never ridden a motorcycle before, but there’s no trace of hesitation in his body. Smoking a cigarette was probably more of an assured risk than riding one. And honestly, he’d always been all too eager to take risks. A little adrenaline trickles into his bloodstream as he settles into the seat behind Zoro.

The man looks back at him curiously as he adjusts the duffel.

“Helmet.”

Sanji pulls it over his head and exhales. He looks down through the tinted glass at his hands, unsure where to put them.

“You’ll need to… hold my waist.”

 _Right, of course._ Sanji does not manage this without hesitation, but he figures if he doesn’t then he’s gonna become a grease spot on the pavement.

Zoro’s certainly got muscle mass, but it’s still easy for Sanji to wrap his arms around Zoro’s midsection. His back is warm even through his jacket and Sanji’s shirt feels too thin.

“Ready?”

Sanji nods. Zoro flicks down his visor, and then turns the ignition. The engine snarls like an animal as it revs into life, and Sanji feels the tremor of it under him. Zoro reverses a little, and then they’re growling out of the parking lot. When they reach the streets, they move up gears and suddenly they’re gliding past cars. Squares of light slide along every reflective surface, slipping like water down a river along the sides of cars and dark window panes.

If Sanji had thought his shirt was thin before, it feels like it’s not even there now. Cold air cuts right through him, but Zoro is warm against his chest, and he grips the man’s waist tighter as the wind threatens to tear him away.

He glances down at the pavement, which is a blur beneath him, and he imagines himself slipping for a moment. He looks back up, ahead to the brilliant lights in the distance. Adrenaline burns through his core and down his limbs, keeping him from shivering.

Sanji thinks, with a wistful ache, that he could get very used to this.

 

  


Ace and Zoro in their costumes, as promised :~)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes zoro was definitely checking out Sanji's ass when he was puttin that towel away.
> 
> also, just to say again, my art blog is dollcedraws.tumblr.com and my main blog is dollce.tumblr.com! if you draw any fan art i'd love for you to @ me in it with either of those or just message the link to me!
> 
> edit: I didn't realise Zoro having a drink and driving later would be considered illegal some places because where I live it's not (he's under the limit), but just to clarify, drink driving is very dangerous and I'm not at all trying to promote that. Zoro is sober and safe to drive :)


	4. Divine Intervention

It’s 3 in the morning, Sanji is exhausted, his fingertips are numb, and he’s plastered to Zoro as they ride a motorcycle through a part of downtown that has Sanji worrying they’re going to be mugged even though they’re going 60 miles per hour.

At first, it had seemed like they were heading back the way Nami had taken. They’d turned away from that route at some point, and Sanji had assumed Zoro (who probably knew the city much better than he did) was taking a detour or a shortcut.

This was apparently not the case.

They should’ve been back at Sanji, Luffy and Ace’s apartment block by now. Instead, they were moving further and further into a sleazier part of the district. Discreet, two story buildings with nondescript entrances open onto the sidewalk, and concrete walls are tagged with scrawling graffiti.

Zoro slows down and though Sanji thinks this isn’t the place to be doing that, they pull over without his protest.

Sanji slides up the visor of his helmet as Zoro does the same. Cold air hits his previously protected face. “Are we lost?”

“ _No._ ” Zoro’s eyes scan the street. “...I’m just not completely sure where we are.”

“So, we’re lost.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you have a smartphone with data?”

“Yeah.”

“So use google maps.”

“I don’t like looking at little maps on a screen, they don’t tell me how to get places.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “They literally do. It will even give you directions.”

“Fine.” Zoro doesn’t cut the engine off (which Sanji thinks is probably a smart move) and pulls an iPhone from his jeans pocket. The screen has a fine crack across it and he slides the lock.

Sanji watches as he turns on the data and opens the browser, finding google maps. A little bubble on the screen asks him if he’d like to use his location, and he hesitates.

“Give it here.” Sanji leans forward, which presses them against each other again for a moment, and plucks the phone from Zoro’s hand.

In less than a minute the internet has provided meticulous instructions. They aren’t far from the apartment and it’s a simple matter of making the right turns at three intersections.

“Alright, we just need to make a right turn at the end of this street, a left turn at the next intersection, then go straight through the next one, and then we’re pretty much there and you should recognise the turn off.”

“Right, left, straight. Got it.”

Sanji hands him back his phone and they pull out onto the quiet road.

Streetlights flash by like ticking seconds. They're only a few blocks from the end of the street when Sanji sees two figures walking up ahead on the sidewalk, and his senses tingle.

The first is a girl. She’s hugging a long, nude toned coat around herself and clutching her handbag to her side with her other hand, which is the first thing to alert Sanji something is not quite right.

A couple metres behind her is a man. He has a hood pulled up over his head and is trailing behind her suspiciously. Sanji taps Zoro’s shoulder and speaks over the rush of the wind and the sound of the engine. “Zoro—something’s—”

The girl disappears from sight around the corner of a building. Sanji sees the man’s pace quicken as he breaks into a run, and he vanishes too.

Sanji’s about to say something to Zoro again; but he doesn’t need to be told. The speed of the bike is hiked up and they cut across the street, taking the turn sharply. Sanji grips Zoro waist and leans into it.

For a terrifying moment, the next street looks empty.

Sanji’s heart thumps wildly in his chest. Frantic eyes land on an alleyway to the right, even as the bike overshoots it.

Zoro hits the brakes.

Sanji leaps off without waiting for the bike to fully halt, sliding the duffel bag from his shoulders and freeing up his movements. He tugs the helmet from his head so his vision isn’t obstructed, and throws it back to Zoro, not stopping to see if the man has caught it as he dashes into the alley.

His eyes adjust to the darkness.

A pale face jerks toward his direction, blue eyes widened in fear, pupils blown huge. It’s the girl, and her mouth is covered by a gloved hand.

Red floods Sanji vision.

His body works like clockwork.

In a moment, he’s ripped the man away from her by the fabric of his jacket. As a shocked face turns to look at him, Sanji brings his leg up, and then slams the heel of his Oxford into said face.

Like a doll, the man falls to the ground, hitting his head for a second time on the rough tarmac.

The sound of the motorcycle cuts out.

Sanji swallows between two heavy sucks of breath. He stares down at the body crumpled before his feet, the man knocked out cold, and then looks up to the girl. Her own hand is now covering her mouth, breathing harsh and loud through her nose.

He waits, doubled over with hands on his knees, until her breathing is more controlled, and then he straightens up. “Are you... alright?”

Slowly, she looks up to him, then removes the hand from her face.

Her features are delicate and her skin is a translucent kind of pale, drained of blood from the shock. Wispy platinum blonde hair is pulled into two braids, and under her open coat she’s wearing a light, baby pink dress. The knees and ankles of her white tights are dirtied and her sneakers are worn.

Her voice is quiet and trembles from between her lips. “Yes, I’m alright.”

“We should get out of here.”

She nods.

Sanji looks to see Zoro, parked on the curb, watching them both with a tensed form.

Out on the sidewalk, light from a street lamp bleaches everything.

The girl has pulled her coat up around her shoulders snugly. He notices, in the better light, that her irises are a shade of blue closer to sea green, like opaque jade harbour water. Traces of glitter shimmer over her cheekbones and her lips are painted coral pink.

Sanji wonders what he should do about the man.

Quite frankly, he’d like to do more than just knock him out—men like him are scum. But he wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of a lady. He could probably safely leave the man there, where he’ll have a particularly nasty headache to wake up to—which won’t be for a while.

People that Sanji kicks in the face aren’t quick to recover.

There’s no way Sanji’s letting the girl walk home, but they can't give her a ride, either, so there's only one option left.

“Can we—shall I call you a cab, miss?”

The girl bites her bottom lip. “I can’t... afford a cab. That’s why I’m walking home.”

“I’ll pay for it.” He pulls his mobile from his pocket and turns to Zoro. “I don’t know the number for cabs around here.”

Zoro takes it, and pauses for a second before dialling in a number, handing it back to Sanji when he’s done.

The girl opens her mouth in protest but Sanji’s holding the phone to his ear, and the cab service is picking up. He tells them the name of the street they’ve just turned off; he remembers it from Google maps, and the receiver informs him in a bored tone that it’ll be around ten minutes before a cab reaches them.

He thanks them and hangs up.

Sliding the phone into his pocket again, he looks to the girl who is hugging herself with her arms.

“What’s your name?”

“Conis.”

“That’s a lovely name, Conis. I’m Sanji, and this is Zoro.”

Zoro nods at her, hands in his pockets, and then scuffs the ground with the toe of his boot.

Sanji continues. “A cab will be here in ten.”

“You didn’t have to call one,” Conis says softly.

“I can’t just let you walk home in an area like this, can I? It’s no problem. You don’t owe me anything, either, don’t worry.”

Conis looks fractionally more relaxed as he says this. “Thank you for… helping me.”

“It was nothing.” Sanji fishes his cigarette packet out of his pocket and flips the top open. He looks up at Conis. “Do you mind…?”

“No, please, go ahead.”

He lights a cigarette and pulls the smoke deep into his lungs.

At this point, he’s running on fumes. If he closed his eyes for too long, he might black out. He turns his head away from Conis and Zoro to blow smoke out the corner of his mouth.

Zoro looks just as wrecked as Sanji. Dark shadows are pressed like fingerprints under his eyes.

Now that the adrenaline has left them, they’re exhausted.

Sanji drops the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement and stubs it underfoot.

He’s finished smoking a second one when the sound of a car approaches, pavement crackling under tyre like the crust of a fresh baguette being torn. A yellow cab pulls around the corner. It slows to a halt at the curb, beside the motorbike.

Sanji strides over to the door. The handle is icy cold on his palm as he tugs it and holds it open for Conis.

She climbs into the cab, purse in her lap, and gives him a small, warm smile. “Thank you again, Sanji.”

“Have a safe night.” He smiles back at her and steps away.

With a nod and a wave to Zoro, she closes the door and disappears from sight.

Sanji steps up to the driver’s door, his hand finding his wallet in his pocket. He pulls three ten dollar bills from it and hands them over to the driver. “Will that be enough?”

The cabbie nods.

Sanji steps back and pats the roof. As he stands there, he watches the cab pull away and drive off. The exhaust leaves whorls of smoke that dissipate like hot breath in winter. It strikes him that he may never see her again.

He hopes she’ll be okay.

“You good?” Zoro asks in that same voice that he’d used earlier that night, at the Merry, just before the pizza had arrived.

Sanji wonders if he hadn’t looked okay. Or maybe Zoro’s a psychic. Which would be terribly unfortunate.

“I’m fucking freezing, is what I am. Let’s go.”

Sanji grasps the duffel bag by it’s strap and hoists it over his shoulder diagonally, then scoops his helmet off the seat. Zoro mounts the bike and Sanji follows suit, sitting up behind him and pulling the helmet over his head once more.

Zoro’s faced forward but his voice is clear when it reaches Sanji’s ears. “That was some kick you gave the guy.”

Sanji grins as Zoro turns the ignition and the engine comes to life. “You bet it was.”

He wraps his arms around Zoro’s waist again as they take off.

Air is soon whipping around them, biting at his clothes. Sanji doesn’t want to fall asleep and he tries hard to keep his eyes open. Namely because he could fall off, partly because it would be embarrassing, and lastly, to make sure Zoro doesn’t get them lost again.

He doesn’t, and they successfully hang left at the next set of lights, and soon they’ve reached Sanji’s neighbourhood. They pull down the side street and the bike slides to a stop in front of the apartment building’s entrance.

The light pollution here is minimal, the streetlights much sparser than the downtown district's. Things are barely visible, painted with moonlight and the glow of a single streetlight.

Sanji’s legs ache as he steps off. He puts his helmet into the duffel, handing it back to Zoro who slings it over his shoulder so it falls the rest behind him.

It’s so cold now that his breath comes out in visible puffs.

Zoro’s question catches him off guard. “Are you worried about her?”

The sound of a car zooming past on a nearby street can be heard over the low growl of Zoro’s bike.

“I always worry about fragile ladies when I’m not there to protect them,” Sanji scoffs.

“...Are you always this ridiculous and annoying?”

“Fuck off.”

Zoro makes an unimpressed face as his gaze stays steady on Sanji. “Women aren’t so helpless.”

Sanji shoves his hands into his pockets. “She was, back there.”

The other man gives a shrug. “You’ve got a point, but that’s a special case.” He pauses for a moment. “It was lucky we were there.”

“Lucky,” Sanji’s echoes, voice flat. The circumstances which called for their action certainly weren’t lucky. Sanji is beginning to think he’s a magnet for bad fortune. He diverts his thoughts from this, a dreamy sigh teasing his lips as he speaks. “She looked like an angel.”

Zoro cocks an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I don’t know... the big blue eyes, the blond hair, the smile? Just had that kind of... aura about her. Maybe it was the light. Or the glitter.”

Zoro stares at him like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.

The silence drags on and Sanji begins to feel a little uncomfortable. _Maybe one of his buttons has come undone? Is there something on his face?_

“What?” He snaps.

"Nothing." Zoro’s blinks at Sanji. “It’s nothing. Sorry, I zoned out a little there. I’m fucking tired, so I’m gonna head home.”

“You’re good to drive home? Don’t need to crash at...” Sanji trails off. _Would it be weird to offer to let Zoro crash at his for the night?_

“Nah, I’m good. My place isn’t far off.”

“Alright. ‘Night,” Sanji gives a lazy wave, and turns his back to the street.

He hears the sound of the motorcycle engine shrink into the distance as he pushes into the apartment block foyer.

The stairwell is dim. Sanji looks up at it with hate in his tired eyes, and then begins his ascent. He was right. He’s really going to hate these stairs.

Once inside his apartment, which is incredibly silent and empty, he promptly brushes his teeth, discards his clothes, and falls into a newly blanketed bed which smells blissfully of lavender washing powder.

 

—

 

Zoro unlocks the door to his apartment quietly, and closes it behind him with the same care.

He moves through the hallway to his bedroom which is at the end, but stops and peers into the lounge. The two lamps crammed between plump couches are still on. His eyes fall to a small slumped figure and he sighs.

Chopper has fallen asleep, pen still in hand, passed out over the coffee table. His mouse-brown hair is ruffled into a mess, but his round face is smooth and peaceful, light freckles dappled across warm cheeks. He’s snoring ever so slightly.

When Zoro shakes his shoulder gently, sleepy brown eyes blink open.

“Oh, Zoro… good morning.” Chopper raises his head off the papers, and rubs his nose.

“It’s four a.m.” Zoro looks at Chopper, who has just rubbed blue ink from his fingertips all over his nose, not for the first time. “And you’ve just got ink on your face.”

Chopper’s round eyes open a little wider and he peers at his fingers in dismay. “Oh, shit! Not again… I should buy pens that are less blotted… or maybe I’ll start writing in pencil…”

“Maybe. But first, you should wash your hands and face so you don’t get it all over your pillow, and then you should definitely sleep.”

“Sleep…” Chopper mumbles, and pushes himself up from the table. “Definitely,” he echoes. The ankles of oversized gray sweatpants bunch over his feet as he shuffles toward their flat’s little bathroom down the hall.

Zoro surveys the notes laid out, spilling in sheets over the table, pinned down by thick textbooks.

His own, and indeed most classes, begin next month. Nami, Usopp and he would be starting their first year, and so would Chopper—but he was starting a year sooner and hence, was completing a bucketload of tests and such to finish up his high school education and get official entry to the university courses he wanted. Zoro wasn’t completely sure what was going on, he just knew Chopper was working three times as hard as any 17 year old should be. It gave Zoro secondhand stress.

When he returns to the hall, the bathroom’s light is on, but Chopper is gone.

He rubs his face with water and gargles with mouthwash, forgoing a toothbrush in his fatigue.

On his way past, he pokes his head into Chopper and Usopp’s room to see that the boy has safely landed facedown on the bottom bunk. Their other flatmate is out cold on the top bunk, feet clothed in fuzzy striped socks which just poke over the end of the bed.

Satisfied, Zoro shambles into his own room next door; the smaller of the two bedrooms, but worth it as he had it all to himself. A wooden desk is pressed against one wall and a mattress is laid out on the floor, sheets in tangle. Zoro dumps his duffel by the desk, hangs his jacket over the desk chair, and flings his t-shirt toward the pile of laundry in the corner.

His jeans end up in a heap by the side of his bed, belt and all.  
  
Flopping down onto the mattress in just his boxers, he pulls the blankets up around himself.

His last, muddy thoughts are of stormy blue eyes like restless seas and silver lined cigarette smoke.

As quickly as he’d slipped under the covers, he slipped into sleep.

 

—

 

The Merry is ablaze with nightlife. It’s a Saturday night, and Sanji hasn’t had a moment of peace since opening. If not for the tabs of each patron he would have lost count of how many drinks he’d served them, and as it is, the drinking and partying goes rather uncontrolled. As always.

The frantic montage of electronic music comes to a dip, and then quietens for a few moments as a voice comes out over the speakers.

“Yohohoho! After the next song, our lovely Miss All Sunday will be on, so grab your seats and drinks now!”

Cheers break out from groups around the room, and a few stand up from the tables in the corner.

Sanji casts his gaze toward the DJ booth that has been set up for tonight.

He can see their part-time DJ fiddling with the soundboard; long, knobbly weathered hands twisting dials and pressing a few buttons. The same hands move to unhook headphones from his neck, and he wiggles out of the booth. For a man as ancient as he is, he still seems to be agile. With the way he dresses, he reminds Sanji vaguely of Ozzy Osbourne.

Distracted by a barrage of orders for refills, Sanji tears his eyes from the looming man making his way through the crowd, so tall his head stays above the rest.

One girl blushes heavily when Sanji hands her a margarita with a blue umbrella decoration. Her face is pretty, he thinks, as she disappears into the crowd.

“Very cute!”

Sanji turns his head to see the DJ, Brook, leaning on the counter.

Despite the poor lighting, he’s still wearing large sunglasses. Though Sanji can’t see his eyes, from the way his head is tilted, he’s also checking out the girl who has just vanished.

“Brook,” Sanji acknowledges. “What’s up?”

Brook gives him a toothy smile. “My throat is bone dry! May I have a glass of water?”

Sanji fetches him one. Brook thanks him enthusiastically and begins to down it.

“So, Miss All Sunday is…who?” Sanji glances to the stage, where no one has come on as of yet.

It takes a few moments before Brook ceases drinking and provides an answer. He places the empty glass neatly on the counter. “Our dear Robin, of course!” Sanji thinks Brook may be wiggling his eyebrows, but he can't see those either. “I hope we get to see her panties! Anyway, I must be off, back to the music!”

Sanji gives his head a little shake as he watches the lanky figure make his way back to the booth. Brook seems like a nice guy, but he does say some strange things—though, it’s not like Sanji is averse to seeing panties either.  
  
Not at all.

Sanji wonders how on earth Luffy met him. Probably on the street. Luffy seems like the type to hire random buskers to be DJ’s. 

As the song draws to a close and he serves another bout of customers drinks, curiosity creeps over him. If he remembers correctly, Robin—or, Miss All Sunday—is the most popular female dancer at the Merry. 

He grins giddily.

The next song starts, causing smooth vibrations to course through the floor.

A rainbow of lights pivot to make a circular, overlapping pattern on the black curtain. The colours and shapes remind Sanji of a bed a roses.

The woman who steps through is more breathtaking than any rose or garden Sanji has ever seen.

Her dark skin is like satin and her black hair is cut perfectly straight, both sharp edges and smoothness, not a single silky hair out of place. Sky blue irises contrast with coal lined lids.

She’s uncanny and delicate and bold and serene, all at once. A purple cowboy’s hat, much like Ace’s, adorns her head. A matching bustier cuts off to bare her midriff and no small amount of cleavage is visible beneath cross stitching down the front. Tassels sway as she walks, a mini skirt stretching over her hips. White fur of a long coat frames her face like snow and the train of it fans behind her.

High heeled, knee-high boots barely make a sound on the platform as she slinks gracefully to the center stage.

Three other girls follow her, wearing belly dancing outfits, each in a different colour.

The coat falls from Robin’s shoulders and she kicks it to the edge. Her right hand wraps around the pole center stage and she circles it, the audience captivated as she slides down it, and Sanji draws in a breath when she crouches, and ever so slightly gyrates her hips to the music. Ribbons of fabric flow through the air as the other girls shimmy and dance similarly, but the lights and the eyes of the patrons are on Robin.

You never could have guessed the level of fitness and skill required to pole dance, with the way she twists herself around it elegantly. She makes it look easy.

Sanji steals every glance he can get between mixing drinks.

The cowboy hat is tossed into the crowd. He doesn’t see who catches it.

On stage, the dancers align themselves behind her. They dance in a line, swaying their arms, in a wave or splayed out like hands of a clock. Robin looks like a heathen goddess, arms sprouting from her back, gold bracelets swaying on wrists as they writhe.

She ends her dance in a sweeping bow and the girls behind her blow kisses.

“I wouldn’t be looking at her like that, if I were you.”

Sanji’s head snaps to the voice.

It has come from Zoro, who has appeared across the bar. He’s changed out of his costume—that night, it’d been white silk high waisted shorts paired with a black vest and a matching bow tie, circling around his neck like a delicate collar—and into jeans and a singlet.

“Looking at her like _what,_ moss head? And, why not? They dance to be admired.”

“Okay, but no one else is staring at her like a kicked, lovestruck puppy.” Zoro licks his lips and Sanji feels the pulse in his neck twitch. “Well, there may have been one other person, which is why _you_ shouldn’t be... Franky’s real sweet on her.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Does she know?”

“Yeah.” Zoro snorts. “She’s Robin, she knows everything. But honestly, it’s everyone that knows. Franky isn’t exactly the most mysterious guy, it’s pretty obvious how much he likes her. And I think she’s sweet on him too, she just hasn’t done anything about it yet. Neither of them have. So stop making goo-goo eyes at her.”

“I was _not_ making _goo-goo eyes_ at her!"

Zoro simply crosses his arms over his chest. “Sure. Anyway, I’d like a whiskey.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh, sorry. I’d like a whiskey _on the rocks._ ”

“I meant a ‘please,’ asshole!”

“Are you two fighting again?” Nami squeezes herself from the crowd and squints accusingly at them. “Zoro! Don’t distract our bartender!”

“Sorry, Nami.”

Sanji grins “ _Thank_ you, Na—”

“And Sanji! Stop wasting time and do your job!”

Sanji hates that Zoro looks smug.

Sanji hates that Zoro looks _good_ when he looks smug.

As he slides the finished drink to Zoro, just how he likes it (three ice cubes and whiskey filled to a third of the tumbler,) movement in the corner of his eye draws his gaze.

Franky is slipping through the ‘Crew Only’ door to the backrooms, looking like a bashful schoolboy, a purple cowboy hat held carefully in two hands.

A soft smile spreads across Sanji’s lips.

It disappears when he turns to see Zoro giving him another one of those strange looks.

“What?”

Zoro raises his drink and speaks around the edge of his glass. “Nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!! like i said, this update came like two weeks later. i'm so busy with school ahh but I think the next update will only be a week away, as this one is not too long~


	5. Some Like It Hot

Judging by the name, this could be one of the worst ideas Sanji has ever heard.

And he’s heard a lot of terrible ideas.

“...Fire whiskey shots?” He echoes.

“Fire whiskey shots,” Ace confirms.

“Do I dare ask?”

Ace grins and the resemblance to Luffy is uncanny; they could be brothers after all. “You do a shot of tabasco sauce, then you do a shot of whiskey. No water or milk or anything after. We do it in rounds,” he continues, resting his jaw lightly on a hand propped against the bar. “You can drop out after a round, but if you want to continue, you can’t take a break. Once you’re out, you’re out. Last man standing wins.”

“That sounds like suicide.”

“You win a week off cleaning duty. Well, you could, but you won’t. I always win fire whiskey shots.” Sanji is beginning to distrust that lazy smile of Ace’s. The man amends himself. “Actually, Franky or I. That guy can down anything, I swear.”

Sanji’s coworkers are monsters of another kind. He opens his mouth. “I don’t think—“

“Chickening out, bar boy?”

Sanji grits his teeth and swings his head to look at Zoro, who’s come up behind them, having changed into a black t-shirt and jeans. “ _First_ of all, I must remind you, I am not a _bar boy_. I am a cook. Yes, I am working in your bar. No, you cannot call me bar boy. And _secondly,”_ he turns with a pointed look at Ace, “I am _not_ chickening out. Let’s do this.”

Luffy whoops in excitement. “Everyone! Fire whiskey shots!”

Sanji picks one of the emptying Jack Daniel’s bottles and a moment later, a bottle of tabasco sauce is delivered into his palm by Usopp, retrieved from his messenger bag. Sanji doesn’t ask.

Nami groans and rolls her eyes, but props herself up on the counter. “I’m only watching.”

“I’m with Ms.Accountant,” Robin adds as she settles on a stool next to the redhead.

“I’m in.” Zoro takes a seat next to Ace. Luffy has propelled himself over the counter and stands by Sanji as the blond pulls out shot glasses and deposits them with a clink.

“How many?”

Luffy counts on his fingers. “One for me, you, Ace, Zoro, and um—“ He glances over at their blue haired bouncer. “Franky, you in?”

Franky waves a large hand. “Not tonight, bro,”

“Usopp?”

“I think I have Allergic-To-Fire-Whiskey-Shots-Disease. Sorry!”

That’s all that remains of the Merry’s Thursday night staff, so eight shot glasses are placed up on the bar. Half are filled with the tabasco sauce and half with whiskey.

Hands circle shot glasses and eyes meet each other.

Ace grins. “To Sanji, our new bartender!”

Sanji’s throat is a trail of pure fire.

It’s not the kind of raw throat from chain smoking, the kind he can tolerate, but the burning kind that ravishes your mouth and sets everything ablaze as your tastebuds scream in agony.

As he splutters hopelessly he can hear other choking noises. Through blurry eyes welling with tears he reaches for the next shot glass and can see other arms extending to do the same.

He wishes with all his heart that he were about to douse his mouth with milk. The whiskey is sharp and it rips over his already burning cells, feeling like gasoline as he swallows. He can feel the heat of the two shots trailing down inside his chest, and panting does not relieve the burning.

There is yelling and cheering around him from a source he can’t place and he blinks desperately.

Ace has tears in his eyes also, but he’s laughing. Despite having his hands wrapped over his mouth, Luffy’s shouts can be heard as he does a kind of jog in a circle, his nose starting to run.

Zoro looks decidedly calm and cool as he blinks a little at the ceiling and then looks down with a short, deep cough. Sanji hates him.

“Round two,” Sanji’s voice cracks as he refills their shot glasses.

Round two leaves tears streaming down his cheeks. Luffy almost caves.

By round three, a warm kind of excitement is tingling through Sanji’s body from the alcohol and the pain has reached a peak, staying constant.

Nami, Usopp and Franky are cheering wildly as round four swings around. Even Robin is smiling in a sweetly amused fashion.

Luffy does cave after his fourth tabasco sauce shot and scrambles to the fridge, finding the coconut milk used for mixing piña coladas and chugging it.

The last two people Sanji would want to be in a drinking competition with are Zoro and Ace.

At this point, they’re both grinning dangerously, and looking like they’re enjoying themselves far too much for two people experiencing excruciating pain. Sanji stares for a moment too long at the devilish smile lighting up Zoro’s face and a different kind of ache can be felt in his chest. He pushes it down.

After the sixth round Sanji is unsure if his blurred vision is due to the tears or the alcohol, but nothing seems to focus. He wants the burning to stop desperately.

But he doesn’t want to lose either.

Round seven starts to numb his tongue. He hears Ace choke on the whiskey shot and Zoro slam to glass down on the counter.

When he can’t find the tabasco sauce to refill their glasses with, he realises Nami is gripping it, along with the Jack Daniel’s bottle.

“I think that’s enough. None of you stubborn idiots are going to quit, and I’m not driving you to the hospital for alcohol poisoning at this time of night or watching you throw up tabasco sauce. Believe me, combined with the stomach acid it burns on the way up twice as bad.”

Sanji grimaces. He believes her.

After Sanji discerns that there is no coconut milk left, he shoves three ice cubes into his mouth. This would be painful, except for the frozen numbing serves to cancel out the burning numbing. Zoro and Ace don’t even give him strange looks as they grab their own handfuls of ice cubes from the mini fridge, and soon they’re all drinking glasses of water on top of that.

None of them have to pick from the straws tonight, and Usopp and Franky land cleaning duty. Robin waves them off, saying she’s getting a ride home with Franky, who also assures them he can drop Usopp off.

Nami shoos them out. Zoro disappears to the locker rooms to grab his things.

Sanji watches Ace carefully cover his motorcycle up, and he thinks he catches Ace calling it _‘baby’_ as he pats the seat and promises to _‘come back for you soon.’_ He then proceeds to flop down happily in the front seat of Nami’s Audi, and Sanji follows suit, scooting into the back seat where Luffy is already sprawled.

Sanji watches with drooping eyes as Zoro comes out with his duffel and Nami locks the door behind them.

Zoro’s side is warm against his as the man slides in next to him, the back seat now a little cramped. Luffy is falling asleep, curling up against the other door.

“Can someone buckle him in?” Nami asks wearily.

Sanji has difficulty strapping him in because Luffy flops around like he’s become boneless, but he eventually manages it, the belt clicking in satisfyingly.

When Nami sees the boys have all got seatbelts on, she backs out.

Sanji gets bored of watching out of the windshield and his eyes travel around the car, noticing how silky Nami’s hair looks and how Luffy’s mouth falls open slightly as he sleeps. His gaze eventually creeps sideways to Zoro, following his jawline and observing how his lips sit, and how his eyelashes are short and straight.

“You’re wearing eyeliner,” Sanji speaks aloud. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he was sure Zoro hadn’t been wearing it earlier this evening.

Zoro’s eyes flick to him. “Yes.”

“Did one of the girls do it for you?”

“Robin did.”

Sanji is silent as the car slides through a set of traffic lights. “That’s nice of her,” he mumbles, and lets his head flop back against the seat, closing his eyes.

When he next opens his eyes, they’ve stopped outside his apartment block. Ace is humming happily and looking sleepy, and Sanji assumes he’s as drunk as the rest of them, but he takes the lanyard from around Luffy’s neck and hoists his little brother up under the arms.

“I’ve got him,” He assures Nami who is regarding them with mild concern. “Thanks sis,” he blows her a kiss with his free hand. “Catch you later.”

“Are you alright to get up to your place, Sanji?” She looks over her shoulder as he scoots over to the door Luffy has been removed from, and Ace left open.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s unlikely I’ll lose my balance on the stairs and die tragically, or end up in hospital, but you know, send flowers if it happens.” He turns to look at Zoro. “Night moss ball.”

“Hope you trip.”

“Same to you.”

Sanji fumbles with the lobby door before realising he needs to unlock it himself, and pulls his key out which results in another half a minute of fumbling. He’s made it up one flight of stairs when footsteps catch up to him.

It’s Zoro.

“What are you doing?”

Zoro rolls his eyes. “Nami got paranoid so she sent me to make sure all of you got home safely.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“Oh, sure. A perfect doting mom friend, except she’s actually still a manipulative witch, so _I_ get to do all the babysitting or she’ll raise my debt.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but don’t bad mouth a lovely girl like Nami.” Sanji feels his stomach turn and he gets an overwhelming inclination to sit down. He wobbles a little and glares at Zoro. “Wait. Aren’t you drunk too?”

The man snorts. “Not really. A little buzzed, maybe.”

Sanji doesn’t remember mumbling “what the fuck” aloud, but he apparently did, because Zoro’s shrugging.

“I have a high alcohol tolerance. It’s… nevermind. Let’s get you upstairs.”

“I don’t need your help to get up stairs.” It’s not Sanji’s intention to sound like a petulant child, but somehow it comes out like that.

Plying himself off the wall of the stairwell he was leaning on, he makes his way up.

He doesn’t remember at what point it happened, but when he reaches the top, Zoro’s arm is around his waist supporting him.

 

—

 

“There is no way I am wearing that.”

Chopper looks very put out at Zoro’s growl.

Sighing, he grabs the clothes from the boy. “Fine. But stop making that face.”

“Thanks Zoro! You’re on in fifteen minutes, don’t forget!” Chopper beams and trots away, arms laden with costumes. The pile has been steadily depleting as he dishes them out.

The girls seem excited with tonight’s theme, and far too pleased with the costumes and props Chopper has organised. Admittedly, Zoro thinks it’s a neat twist for tonight, but the theme… really isn’t for him.

Zoro looks down at the garments and accessories in his arms and groans.

Regardless, he’s quick to scoot around to his locker. He dumps the costume on the bench as he strips down, dropping his discarded garments into his gym bag. To pull the tights on, he has to sit, shimmying the fabric carefully up his legs so as not to ladder it. The main piece of the outfit goes on after, which is difficult, as it’s shapely and corset-like. It’s flexible enough, though, which is important, but getting it on is the main problem.

When that’s done, he attaches the bow tie collar around his neck, the white cuffs around his wrists, and then the final topping on the cake: the pair of bunny ears attached to a headband. He wants to throw them across the room.

“You get the Easter special too, huh?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Ace’s face. The man is smiling at him amusedly, leaning against a locker, in an outfit identical to Zoro’s: A dark, strapless one piece with a low cut front and high cut sides, revealing every inch of thigh and the tops of hip bones. Sheer stockings are black to match as the silk bow-tie and bunny ears. With his arms crossed, Ace has a nice amount of cleavage, and the bunny ears don’t look strange at all on him, nestling in tousled hair.

“Yes, I do, and it’s ridiculous. I look like an idiot,” Zoro tugs at one of the ears.  “While you’re over there, looking like you were born to be a Playboy bunny. Let me die.”

Ace just laughs. “You don’t look like an idiot, don’t worry. It’s kinda cute, kinda sexy. Plus it shows off your _assets,_ ” a finger is twirled at him, indicating the area that is his chest and upper arms.

Zoro lets his forehead rest on his locker down after he slams it shut. “Well, thanks, but you think everyone’s hot anyway.”

Ace claps his back. “Hey, I’m serious. And also, I have average-to-high standards, thank you very much.”

“Ah, Mr.Swordsman,” Robin’s voice is a little out of breath, coming up behind them from the back door that leads to the stage. Her skin is shining a little with sweat and shimmering body oil, and she inclines her head politely towards Ace before shaking black bangs from her eyes. “You’re on now.”

Zoro sighs. “Not you too, Robin… you look straight out of a Playboy magazine. I hate you both.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle at the sides as she smiles. “You look very handsome too, don’t worry.”

A head of mouse brown hair flops around the corner of the locker row. “Zoro! Get going! And don’t forget your Easter basket for collecting tips!”

“Yes, Chopper, I’m going. Wait, what? _Easter basket—_ ”

 

—

 

On a list of things Sanji thought he’d never see, Roronoa Zoro in a playboy bunny costume, collecting dollar bills beside pastel easter eggs in a wicker basket, was definitely right up there with pigs flying.

And yet, he was seeing it.

The only thing stopping this from being positively delightful was the fact that he too, was wearing identical bunny ears and a bow tie.

He’d protested strongly at first, but not only was Chopper persuasive, the kid was kinda sweet, and Sanji gave in eventually. Chopper seemed even younger when he was excitedly handing out bunny costumes and Sanji wondered if seventeen year olds were even allowed at strip clubs. Legally speaking, probably not, which was likely why he wasn’t an official employee.

Sanji had let his tie be exchanged for the bow tie, and finally accepted the pair of ears and the basket. He’d escaped the rest of the outfit.

As it turned out, it was pretty popular—no small amount of girls flirted with and made passes at him while he served drinks. And no small amount of men, either—much to Sanji's surprise. His basket, propped behind the counter, was filling up with bills tucked around eggs. He suspected there was also a few slips of paper hidden there with phone numbers scrawled on them.

Despite this, he still felt sort of silly wearing the ears.

While Zoro looked… good.

Too good.

He definitely seemed slightly uncomfortable though; Sanji could tell, even if it wasn’t obvious enough for the crowd to notice.

The fluffy pom pom that served as a bunny’s tail, which bobbed when Zoro bent over, was Sanji’s favourite bit of the outfit.

He tried not to watch too closely.

He failed at that dismally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy easter!  
> i updated 2 weeks later after all ;; apologies for that, but I hope you enjoyed it. This chapter was more of a filler, like an Easter special episode ^ ^ I'm excited to get into the plot next chapter and I hope I do my ideas justice. As always thank you so much for the support and praise!!!


	6. Internal Wars: The Thirst Awakens

Sanji has been working at the Going Merry for a month when the first semester of university begins.

His life has regained some of its former rhythm, despite it being, well—wildly different.

The last few years of his life saw him waking before sunrise, helping set up for the day at the Baratie, and then rushing to his high school by 8 o’ clock. On most days after school, he’d rush _back_ to the Baratie and begin his afternoon to night shift—and on days when he wasn’t working his ass off in the kitchen, he was working his ass off completing essays and assignments. Most Friday nights (and some other odd nights of the week) he could be found drinking like the world was ending, and flirting with girls around a cigarette.

After the incident with his ex girlfriend and ex best friend, he didn’t really have any friends he hung out with properly—just acquaintances at parties and in his classes. It hadn’t mattered much, between working at a high end restaurant and attending high school, Sanji didn’t have a whole lot of free time. So there it was: wake early, work, study, work, party late.

Rinse, repeat.

The holidays and the move had been a hitch in his life, but he was finally settled into the new routine.

He’d wake late, usually after noon. He’d cook breakfast—often Luffy would appear at his door, and he’d cook enough for him too. (Curiously, Ace was more often than not absent from his own apartment in the mornings, just like the day Sanji had met the brothers.) During the daylight hours, Sanji would go grocery shopping, or for walks to coffee shops, or to the gym—he’d been going to a local gym on a trial subscription, but he planned to get a membership at the University’s gym as it would most likely be much cheaper. He’d get a lift to the Merry, start work at eight, and end up at home in the early hours of the morning craving his soft bed, but missing the club that somehow felt more like home than his flat did.

And now, that’s all going to be thrown into chaos again by the start of classes.

His first class, which begins at half past 9, and which he is almost late to, is Biochemistry of Cells. In addition to that, he’s enrolled in five other courses: Communication in the Sciences (which he assumes every first year doing a Bachelor of Science is taking,) Chemistry of Living Systems, Essentials of Mammalian Biology, Introductory Biostatistics, and his final elective option, Nutrition for Children and Adolescents.

Biochemistry of Cells starts out feeling like a recap of his high school biology classes. His lecturer is decrepitly old and he strains to hear the man talk. A good half hour is spent on drivel, and Sanji thinks wistfully about a second cup of coffee. The second half of the lesson covers basic material that he’s familiar with already. He takes notes nonetheless.  

As the professor drones on about organelles and their primary functions, his mind begins to wander. Absently, he taps his pen against the pad in front of him. He’s holding it like a cigarette, and that in itself sends him into a fantasy where he’s finally able to get outside and have a smoke.  
  
The professor moves on to making a new point and Sanji jots down a few more notes.

At 10, he piles out with the rest of the students. The campus of Grandline University is large and daunting, much like the city it resides in, but it’s more reasonably organised. After navigating his way out of the science block’s lecture halls, it takes him five minutes to locate a coffee vendor. There’s a concrete courtyard by a grass area, trees boldly growing by metal picnic tables, ringed on one half by a sushi place and a cafe-type joint.

He eyes the cabinet foods of the coffee place but decides on just a coffee after all.

Drink in hand, he looks around and sets his sights on one of the unoccupied metal picnic tables. He’s two steps from the coffee place, taking his first sip, when he collides with a body jarringly.

A curse word slips from his lips, mostly because he's scalded his tongue, and a flustered voice reaches his ears.

“Oh, god, I’m _so_ sorry—I wasn’t looking where I was going, and—” Dainty hands are held up apologetically as the voice splutters, and Sanji’s eyes move to find the source of it, only to land on the cherubic face he’s seen before. When he meets her gaze, teal eyes only widen further.

“ _—_ Sanji?”

“ _Conis?_ ” In a moment of confusion and surprise Sanji forgets his manners, but he’s quick to correct himself. “Don’t be sorry at all, my dear. It was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

His eyes flick over her, and to his alarm he notices a bruise on her wrist before he realises it couldn't have happened just now.

Her other hand comes up to circle said wrist, and she shakes her head. “Not at all! I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He peers closely at her. Is that another bruise peeking from under her collar?

Conis nods. Pale blond hair tickles her shoulders and shadows her neck. She flushes pink as her eyes widen again. “Oh, I’m going to be late for class! I don’t suppose you know which direction the arts block is?”

If he remembers correctly, it’s to the left of the science block. He points it out for her, and she waves as she hurries off.

“Thank you again, Sanji!”

He nearly melts into the ground.  _She’s so lovely!_ "Don't mention it!" He calls after her, waving back.

Finally he makes his way over to a bench. The air is cool, and the sky is a shade of blue closer to slate grey. His leather messenger bag gets dumped beside him on the seat.

He savours the taste of both the coffee and the tobacco, and contemplates how well caffeine and nicotine go together. It feels like his mind has finally cleared from it’s post-waking haze.

His next class is Communication in the Sciences, which he’s pretty sure is going to be brain-rottingly boring and full of essay writing, but at least it’s only on his timetable two times a week so he’s not expecting it to be wildly demanding.

And he doesn’t particularly mind, anyway. He has a mix of courses which he thinks will be interesting, bar Communication in the Sciences and Intro Biostatistics. He’s sure the workload will be manageable this semester, as well as the content being interesting.

Which is just what he needs, really. He’ll jump back into a routine, balancing out calm, intellectual classwork with a night of work that is, for lack of a better word, chaotic. Bartending at the Merry is something he’s come to enjoy fiercely, but a wind down where he can concentrate is perfect.

He can’t seem to ever fully concentrate at the Merry—it’s like something’s always nagging him.

It could be that the music, the lights, and the dancers distract him, or that the drink mixing and the socialising are infinite—it could be, but he’s not sure it is. Whatever it is, though, he can forget about it while he’s here.

Things are good, he thinks. He strolls through the science department block toward his next class.

Things are genuinely looking up, and he’s calm and collected. The next lecture hall is apparently where his class is. It’s spacious, like a broad amphitheatre. He climbs the stairs up to around the middle row, and takes a seat.

Things are pretty great, in fact. He’s seen exactly fourteen cute girls since he got to the campus this morning. Fifteen including Conis. He’s ready to ace these fucking classes. Everything is good.

Shuffling around in his messenger bag, he drops his pad onto the desk and a pen on top of it. His smart phone, fully restored, has no notifications to display but he toys with it for a few minutes, keying in his timetable.

When he looks up, it takes him a good, long, ten seconds to process what he is seeing.

Green hair.

Straight, sleek, short, unmistakeable green hair.

Tanned arms, biceps flexing as they pull a book out of a bag. A silvery scar stretches over the inside of the left arm, a smaller one over the right hand’s knuckles, and a dark one with echoes of stitches on the right bicep. Sanji recognises each and every one of them.

Broad shoulders. A nice back, actually, with a white t-shirt stretching over it. A familiar back. An agonisingly attractive, painstakingly familiar back.

“ _Zoro?!_ ” He chokes out.

It is, most definitely, none other than Roronoa Zoro who turns to him with a bemused expression. “Oh, Sanji. Hey. What are you doing here?”

“The fuck do you think I’m doing here, idiot? I go here. This is my class.”

Zoro narrows his eyes. “Why are you so surprised to see me here then, bar boy? I go here too.”

Sanji catches on that. Zoro makes a point: It’s clear as day why they’d both be sitting in this lecture hall.  
  
It just doesn’t seem fair. Sanji’s luck is so awful. How is he supposed to concentrate when this asshole—when he’s sitting right there. When Sanji can’t even so much as glance in his direction without seeing Zoro in a uniform, or in a costume closer to lingerie, twisting around a pole or bending over on stage. He doesn’t even need to imagine what it’d be like to undress Zoro because he sees it on a regular basis. This is… precisely what he’d wanted to escape being distracted by.

_...Oh._

It's not like he has a schoolgirl crush on the stripper. However, he's undeniably a little more... attracted to him than previously anticipated.  
  
“Oi, are you listening?”

Sanji snaps back to the present, where Zoro is giving him a quizzical look. He feels heat rising up his chest and hopes to god it doesn’t spread to his face. “Uh, pardon?”

“What’s your degree?”

“Um, Bachelor of Science in Human Nutrition. You?”

“Probably gonna major in Exercise and Sport Science. Like, physiology and stuff.”

“Oh, neat.” Had Nami mentioned Zoro would be starting here too? Luffy had said ‘a few’ of his friends would be starting here. Sanji’s thoughts are sidetracked by the professor entering the room and he tries to shake himself out of it when Zoro turns his back on him again.

This is okay. It’s only two classes a week. There’s no problem.

The white fabric of Zoro’s shirt is thin and Sanji realises he can see the faint scars in the places he knows they will be.

_Pen. Notes._

Zoro’s shoulder blade moves as he fetches a pencil.

_Paying attention to the professor._

Sanji’s eyes follow his slightly bent spine.

_God, this class really is boring. We're going to be writing so much waffle for assignments._

Twenty minutes into the lecture, Zoro falls asleep.

Sanji can tell because Zoro's posture slumps a little, jaw resting on a palm propped on the desk, and his breathing slows. As Sanji watches the rhythmic expansion and contraction of the man’s ribcage, he wonders if he should wake him up.

He decides against it; there’s nothing _that_ important being said, and Zoro probably needs his sleep. Also, it’s none of Sanji’s business.

When the class is over, everyone shuffles out noisily, but still Zoro remains fast asleep. Sanji’s standing by him with his own things packed up, and he gingerly reaches out and gives the man's shoulder a shake.

Golden eyes blink blearily open and Zoro yawns widely, showing rows of white teeth. Sanji is reminded of a cat.

“Class is over.”

“Oh, already?” Zoro’s eyes drift over the room.

“ _Already?_ You slept through most of it, jackass!”

“Oops.” Zoro does not sound at all remorseful. “Could I borrow your notes?”

Sanji makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Sure.”

Zoro dumps his things back into his bag and stands, stretching. Sanji pointedly does not look at the tan strip of stomach that becomes momentarily visible.

“Ah, I’ll need your number then.”

“What?” Sanji looks back to Zoro.

“Your mobile number, I don’t have it. Just send me a pic of the notes.”

“You should give me _your_ number then, idiot.”

Zoro offers a shrug. “Whatever.”

Sanji pulls his smartphone from his pocket, opens up the contacts and hands it over.

When Zoro returns it to him with his number in the proper field, Sanji has a brilliant idea. He names the contact and when he’s satisfied, pushes his phone back into his pocket.

His next lecture, a class on Mammalian Biology, starts in five minutes, and so he turns and makes his way down the stairs.

They leave the lecture hall together, and at first, Sanji thinks Zoro’s going in the same direction as him. But when he looks behind himself, Zoro has disappeared, so he breathes out a sigh. At least he won’t be in this class.

Upon reaching the next classroom Sanji dumps himself into a seat and pulls out his pad, wishing that these two classes didn’t run back to back, because he's really craving a cigarette.

It’s twenty minutes into the lesson when someone slaps open the door to the classroom.

The late comer apologises sheepishly to the professor, who just laughs and announces to the room at large that getting lost on your first day is something easily forgiven. He then proceeds to take a seat three rows in front of Sanji without seeing him.

Sanji stares hopelessly at the back of his green, mossy head.  
  
_I am so fucked,_ he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> save sanji from his thirst
> 
> thank you so much for your patience with updates, and also for all your comments and praise!! believe me, I read and appreciate each and every one even if I don't reply to them all because I'm busy ;;


	7. Requiem For A (Wet) Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo, I made the update a day early!

 

Sanji looks out to sea.

Jagged jade waves unroll themselves, and stretch all the way to the horizon, where the sky tenderly meets the ocean. As if it were the edge of the world.

The rail he leans on is white. The breeze is salty, and the splash and slosh of waves against the pillars reaches his ears, soothing like the tinkling of wind chimes. He can also hear the echo of cutlery clinking against plates, the hum of voices, and the laughter of diners.

The familiarity of it all is intoxicating, and he bathes in it.

He turns, and walks back into the Baratie. The restaurant by the sea, which juts out into the bay.

Full windows display the view in all it’s glory. The dining area over the water is supported by pillars, buried deep in the sands below.

As the sun sinks behind the waves, the sky is being painted pink.

And yet, despite how familiar everything is, as Sanji weaves through the guests and the white-clothed tables, he feels alien.

Like something is off.

He pushes into the kitchen through a portholed door.

There is no one inside.

All the elements are off. There are no dishes in the sink, nothing left out. It’s quiet.

He wonders absently who has been cooking all the food.

His body moves for him, and he’s pulling out a frying pan, though he’s not sure why. _What is he cooking?_ He just knows he should be cooking. There are customers outside.

 _Where are the ingredients?_ He looks around—the pantry and walk in fridge should be right there, but they aren’t. He looks back, feeling calm nonetheless and just a little disgruntled.

And then, he sees him.

Sitting on the counter to Sanji’s right, legs dangling off the edge, is Zoro.

He’s wearing nothing but a black waiter’s apron, the Baratie’s logo on the left breast, and what appears to be a black pair of underwear with thin sides. The string of the apron is tied around his neck and his back, and the underwear’s string has ties at the sides, like a girl’s bikini bottom.

There is a pause that is both long and short, unable to be quantized.

“Come here.” Zoro’s mouth barely seems to move. Sanji is enraptured by his gaze.

He walks over, and as soon as Zoro can reach him, the man is trailing a hand lightly over Sanji’s jaw, reeling him in. Sanji settles between Zoro’s spread legs, his own stomach pressed to the counter.

Zoro leans down to his face, ghosting his lips along Sanji’s cheekbone.

Sanji shivers.

He wants very badly for Zoro to kiss him.

Or to say something again.

He wonders how the stripper would react if he were to touch him. His skin is radiating heat. Sanji wonders if it’s as smooth as it looks.

Sanji feels wetness on his face.

He pulls back, confused, to touch his own cheek.

There are warm, salty tears there. But his own eyes are dry.

He looks up to Zoro. The man has no readable expression, but tears are sliding from his eyes, traversing his face and dripping off his jaw.

“Zoro!” Sanji reaches out, but he can’t touch the man. He doesn’t understand why not. “Zoro, what’s wrong?”

Dark gold eyes regard him and blink away tears. He shakes his head and his earrings click.

There is a roaring far off that Sanji recognises.

If not for the sound of the waves approaching, growing closer than they should, Sanji never would have noticed them.

It's getting alarmingly close.

Sanji’s body floods with panic.

He twists to look out the kitchen door’s window, desperate to see where the sound is coming from, and what the guests are doing. He can see no one in the dining area—

The windows looking out to the bay crack and explode from pressure, and fear burns Sanji to his core as nothing short of a tsunami crashes into the Baratie.

He’s frozen in time, not sure where to go, not sure if it’s important to leave or if he even can—

The tidal wave is churning toward him as it eats the air, swallowing everything whole, Sanji feels like he’s forgetting something—he doesn’t want to die—

The wave slams through the kitchen’s door, and slams right into him next.

He wakes up gasping to find thin air filling his lungs.

Falling back down on his bed, he rubs at his face with his palms, and groans. He’s certainly had worse nightmares—no doubt—but this one was a pretty rude way to twist a wet dream into, well, a _wet_ dream.

It’s mildly unsettling.

He turns off his alarm, minutes before it can alert him it’s time to get up. There’s enough time for a shower and breakfast before he has to leave for class.

By the time he leaves the apartment, he will have forgotten he even had a dream.

 

**—**

 

As it turns out, Zoro shares not two, but three of Sanji’s five courses.

Communication in the Sciences is at least only twice a week, but Essentials of Mammalian Biology and Introductory Biostatistics are four times a week each. As such, he has over half his classes with Zoro.

He’s gotten used to it by now, and though he suffers the odd… distraction, so far through the first week of classes he’s managed to stay on top of it all.  
  
The same could not be said for Zoro.

Sanji’s not sure what it is, because Zoro doesn’t skip classes. Admittedly, he’s late to the majority of them because he gets lost—something that’s wearing thin on their lecturers’ patience—but he always turns up.

What he doesn’t do, is take notes. He gets a pencil and paper out, but he never writes anything beyond the date at the top of the page, and sometimes the number of the pages from the textbook.

Sanji’s just happened to notice this, of course. It’s not like he’s watching Zoro. Or is concerned at all.

It’s not like he sees when Zoro stares off into space instead of listening to the professor.

It’s not like he’s watching when Zoro sometimes falls asleep halfway through a class. (And it’s definitely an accident when he kicks the back of Zoro’s chair to wake him up.)

Friday has finally arrived and every class seems doubly as long. Sanji’s Nutrition for Children and Adolescents class drags him through the early morning and to noon, and he has barely any time to buy coffee and have his smoke before he has to set off for his afternoon class.

Intro Biostatistics is next, and as Sanji’s turning down the hall toward the lecture theatre, he catches a glimpse of green in the corner of his vision. A head of moss, which is currently travelling in the opposite direction to which it should.  
  
“OI! Zoro!”

Zoro’s head snaps around to where Sanji is standing. Sanji waits as he trudges down the corridor. He definitely doesn't notice that Zoro's jeans are a size smaller than usual, hugging his hips and thighs nicely.

“Class is this way, moss brain.”

Zoro looks away with a small grimace. “I knew that.”

Sanji doesn’t bother to argue. They make their way up the stairs of the lecture hall, and when Sanji takes a seat, Zoro sits a row in front of him as is customary. _Couldn’t he sit a row behind, for once?_

Fifteen minutes into the class and Zoro’s head has already sunk to the desk, cheek pressed to the blank pad of paper. Sanji scribbles his own notes down half heartedly.

Biostatistics is nearly pure drivel. Sanji’s sure the professor is going to set them an assignment for their first weekend, simply because he seems like the kind of guy who hates fun. A lengthy essay, perhaps.

The buzz that rouses Zoro from his slump also catches Sanji’s attention.

He watches curiously as Zoro pulls his cracked iPhone from his jeans pocket.

Zoro slides the lock and the screen open to a message—

Sanji looks away, to his notes. _Is he really going to read someone else’s texts over their shoulder? That would be invasive to say the least. Why is he interested anyway? He’s definitely not._

The lecturer is writing down a google classroom link on the whiteboard. Sanji studiously copies it down.

He stills, pen in hand, when he hears Zoro laugh.

It’s not a proper laugh. Hell, it’s not even a chuckle. It’s a sort of amused huff. Zoro shifts in his seat, shoulders dropping a little as if tension has left them, and holds his phone with both hands, beginning a reply.

The thing about people, and people’s brains, is that they are less in control than they think, and far too curious for their own good.

If you tell someone not to think about the colour red, they will have, in that second, already thought about red the moment they heard the word. Your eyes will jump to the spoilers down the page of a particularly invigorating book despite themselves. If you try hard not to think about something, you’re thinking about that something hard.

And so, when Sanji tells himself _you will not look at Zoro’s text message,_ looking at Zoro’s text message is exactly what his eyes do. It’s an impulsive flick which somehow ends up gluing his gaze to the screen.

He realises he can’t read a word of it.

The text isn’t in English. In fact, it’s completely in characters—Japanese characters, Sanji assumes, because Zoro’s half or mostly japanese or something like that. He hadn’t bothered to ask what fraction.

Sanji strains his eyes to read the contact name, hoping it will give him a clue. The first thing he notices is the pink double heart emoji by the name. This causes him to experience a very odd, knotted, sinking feeling. The hearts are followed by a pink bow, the ghost emoji, and a crown. An odd mix.

The name itself is in also characters Sanji can’t read, even though they aren't in kanji, they're still not in a latin alphabet.

He doesn’t need a name, though. It’s clearly a girl’s contact.

Judging by the hearts in her contact name and the way Zoro reacted to her text just now, they’re pretty close. She’s probably his girlfriend.

_Stupid, stupid! Of course Zoro has a girlfriend._

He’s nineteen, after all, and he’s part of a group of friends Sanji only just joined. He’s good looking, with an attractive figure, and Sanji’s the only one he’s ever been a smug asshole toward—and even then, he guessed he wasn’t so bad. It’s only natural for Zoro to have a girlfriend.

 _She’s probably cute and petite,_ Sanji thinks. All curvy and sweet and chattery, contrasting to Zoro, who’s masculine and stoic and on the quiet side.

Sanji leans back as Zoro types his reply.

It’s not like it’s his business, anyway.

 

—

 

“You look tired as hell.”

Sanji looks up to see Usopp sitting himself at the bar. His square glasses slide down his long nose, and he pushes them back up.

Sanji snorts. “I am tired.” He drops the towel he was just using to clean a glass. “Can I get you something?”

Usopp shakes his head and his curly ponytail bounces. “Nah, I’m good. I’ve gotta go home after this and start on this assignment one of my professors has given me. Can you believe that? First weekend and I get an assignment.”

Sanji can indeed believe that. “Yeah, my Biostatistics prof gave us an essay too.” It takes a moment to for things to click. “Wait, so you’re going to Grandline? What’s your degree in?”

Usopp’s tired eyes light up a little. “I’m doing a Bachelor of Engineering, in mechatronics. So like, parts of aircrafts, appliances, toys, vehicles, medical stuff, robots of all types. Hell, I could even go into making artificial organs. I’m pretty interested in projectiles though!” Usopp is grinning by now, and Sanji’s glad that someone is this excited about their degree. “Nami mentioned you were doing a degree in nutrition?”

“Yeah, human nutrition.” Sanji rubs the back of his head, feeling the short strands of hair against his nape. “Specifically in adolescents and kids.”

Usopp raises an eyebrow and nods. “Neat.”

“What are you boys up to?”

Speak of the devil—or rather, speak of the angel. Sanji’s vision is graced with Nami’s beauty. “Ah, Nami! Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks, Sanji.” She sits herself beside Usopp.

“We’re talking about how shitty it is that we’ve got assignments already,” Usopp supplies.

“Do you really? Geez. My professors haven’t given me anything yet.”

“Lucky.” Usopp tilts his head a little and narrows his eyes. “ _And_ you don’t even work seven nights a week! Man, I am feeling jipped.”

Sanji covers his snort with a hand. _Who still says jipped?_

“Usopp’s right.” Sanji leans his elbows on the counter and looks over to the stage where Miss Doublefinger—Paula, rather—is strutting around on stage in a harness that screams BDSM. “Working seven nights a week and managing uni is gonna kill me. Or my sleep schedule. Probably one leading to the other.”

“Well, the Merry’s pretty popular, you know.” They both look to Nami, who’s rubbing her hands together slightly and staring off at nothing in particular. “We can look into hiring more staff, so that you guys don’t have to work full time. We’d need at least one more bouncer and another bartender. I’ll talk to Luffy about it.”

“Nami, my dear, you’re the best!”

She and Usopp both roll their eyes at Sanji.

The applause as Paula finishes her routine catches Sanji’s attention. He watches her slink away, hips swaying exaggeratedly.

The song changes, to a slower, dirty kind of beat, and Sanji eyes the black curtain.

It ruffles, and is then parted by tan arms and followed by a muscular, mostly naked body.

Zoro pads to the centre stage, katana strapped to him and dressed in the same get up he’d been wearing when Sanji first saw him dance.

Sanji swallows and looks away, hoping someone will come and order a drink.

 

—  
  
The contact because I can  
  



	8. (Platonic) Love, Actually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp I may have updated a day early last time but now I am two days late :V This chapter was really fun to write though! I wanted to get my ideas down right and do them justice so I'm pretty happy with the outcome. I hope it's as fun to read as it was to write!
> 
> alternatively titled, 'Zoro and Perona are having a good time while Sanji is lowkey suffering somewhere,' with credit to Pixel

“You got _lost_ again, didn’t you?”  
  
Round, dark eyes are squinting at him, lined thickly with makeup.

Zoro looks Perona up and down. 

“It’s nice to see you too.”

His voice is heavy with sarcasm at her greeting; which is ironic in itself, because actually, it kind of _is_ nice to see her. It’s only been a few months since he saw her last, but it feels like too long.  
  
Her hair, dyed candyfloss pink, is twisted into two buns on top of her head. Ruby red lipstick matches chunky heels and painted nails. She’s wearing a pastel salmon frock with a white lace shirt underneath, and striped cotton socks reaching to above her knees.  
  
The lolita clothing is less extreme, and less gothic than her high school outfits, but her eyeliner is the same, as if she’d never grown out of her scene phase. (A phase which Zoro can remember well.) He can admit to himself he’s grown to like her style and makeup, though he’d never admit that to her.  
  
And she’s right—he did get a little lost on the way to the bus depot—but that’s understandable. He’s never been here before.

Perona rolls her eyes, but she steps forward and then he is squeezed tightly. It feels warm. She pulls back.

“Why are you smiling like that, you dope?”

He looks down at her—even with heels, she’s a few inches below him. 

“I was thinking what a vice grip you have, for someone so tiny and weak looking.”

“Shut up, marimo. Let’s get going, you’re already half an hour late and everyone else from my bus has left. I have,” she turns and looks behind herself, “some luggage—”

“ _Some_ luggage!” Zoro’s eyes bulge. “What on earth do you need _six_ suitcases for? You’re only staying a week!”

“I wanted to bring more, but the bus company charges, like, 3 bucks per check on bag. So I had to travel light.” She pouts a little. “I had to leave my whole Alpacasso collection in my dorm. I hope they’re okay.”

Zoro shakes his head. “I can’t believe you still collect those things.”

She looks offended, to say the least. “They’re _cute_!”

“Unlike you.”

“If one of us in un-cute, it’s hands down you, stupid marimo.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

He’s missed her.

 

—

 

Zoro is ready to collapse by the time he’s brought in the sixth, and thankfully final suitcase.

His bedroom is rather cramped now, due to the cluster of suitcases filed along one wall. It was a good thing he’d asked to borrow Usopp’s truck; even if it was a manual and sputtered like a chainsmoker, it had enough room for transporting all of Perona’s junk. She’ll be sleeping in his room. He’ll have to sleep on the couch, but he doesn’t mind. 

He trudges back down the apartment’s narrow hall, turning into the lounge room to find Perona already splayed on the couch. She’s tapping boredly through the channels on TV.

“Do you guys have any movies?”

Zoro flops down next to her. “Uh, I think there’s a few rentals that Luffy left here. But they’re either bad horror movies, or weird documentaries. He has shit taste in movies.” He glances at the DVD cases on the floor by the disc player. “I’m pretty sure he just goes into the store and picks ones that have ‘cool pictures’ on the front.”

Perona makes a _hmph_ sound. Her eyes flick over to Zoro. “Don’t you have work soon?”

He picks at the seam of the couch. “Nah, I have tonight off.”

“Are your flatmates there?”

“Usopp and Chopper? Yup.”

Perona had never questioned Zoro when he first told her he’d got a job as a stripper. He’d been sort of nervous that she’d overreact, but she’d simply told him not to let any creeps feel him up, and that she expected to be invited to the club one day. 

It had probably helped that he’d explained it wasn’t some random bar, but was in fact owned by Luffy and Ace, and that Nami was going to be the manager. Perona trusted his friends because he trusted them, even though she’d only met them a few times.

“Your roots are showing,” she remarks.

Zoro runs a hand through his hair. The strands are getting longer, and his natural colour is growing in, black at the roots. “Did you bring your kit?”

“Mhm. You wanna do your hair now?”

“Sure. You go find your stuff, I’ll go get a beer.” 

Perona hates beer, and so he doesn’t bother asking if she wants one. Pushing himself up off couch, he shuffles into the kitchen, opening the fridge and picking out a can of Sapporo. When it comes to Japanese beer, he prefers Sapporo over Asahi.

He can hear Perona shuffling around in one her suitcases through the thin walls of the flat. 

The can makes a hissing sound when he pops it open, and he wanders down the hall to watch Perona. She’s kneeling by one of her suitcases, pulling out an assortment of professional looking tools that Zoro thinks look mildly redundant and has no idea what half of them are for. The suitcase appears to be filled entirely with hairdressing supplies.  
  
He’s not entirely surprised, as she _is_ a beauty school student, and she always does his hair for him when she visits—ever since the first time she bleached it and dyed it green, back in their second year of high school. Still, it seems a little excessive to be carrying around this much, especially when she’s on a break from her course.

She holds up two silver packets, with small dark writing on them which Zoro doesn’t bother trying to read. 

“Spearmint, or Sage?” She gives them a small wiggle.

“Are these colours, or...”

“Colours.”

Zoro shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “Uh, mint sounds good.”

“Spearmint it is. It’s a little lighter than your current colour, and more blue toned than yellow, so I’ll have to....”

Zoro tunes her out as she babbles on about hair-related things. He watches as she pulls out a lightening kit with several pastes and powders in sachets, an empty mixing bottle, and a comb. She leaves the more bizarre looking tools alone.  
  
He’s ushered into the bathroom, still drinking his beer, and made to take off his shirt. A chair is retrieved from the kitchen, and she sits him down so that he can reach his can from where it sits on the side of the bathtub.

She mixes some of the things together and shakes them up in the bottle, proceeding to methodically dab the paste all over his roots. 

They talk about nothing in particular as it’s bleaching, and Perona magics up some nail polish remover and cotton balls from one of her suitcases, to wipe off the red polish on her nails. After a quarter of an hour, when the roots are looking light, she smears more paste all through his hair.

“So,” Perona says as she washes her hands for the fifth time in the sink, “are you seeing anyone?”

Zoro snorts. He tosses his empty can into the bin by the basin. “No.”

“Aw, no cute guys in this city? Or is it just that you don’t shower enough and so you smell, and none of them will bang you ‘cause of it?”

“I shower enough, thank you very much! You’re the one who’s gonna sleep in my ‘smelly’ bed for the next week, unless you’d prefer the couch, which could be arranged.”

Perona pouts a little. 

Then she smiles. It is not a sweet smile. 

“Still, you _don’t_ shower enough.”

He glares at her.

“Speaking of showers, it’s time to wash out your hair. Just use shampoo, no conditioner yet.”

She leaves the bathroom and gives him privacy to step into the shower and wash out his hair. When he’s done, he wraps a towel around his waist, and wanders back to the kitchen to retrieve another beer from the fridge. Perona’s pursing her lips as she reads the titles of the movies Luffy left by the player.

“We should watch this later.”

“What is it?”

She holds it up for him to see. The cover has a tacky grainy effect, the text is in a drippy font, and there’s the faces of people screaming as a ghost plunges through one of their stomachs.

“It’s called ‘Haunted Mansion, The Terrors Inside: 2.’”

“Sounds horrible.”

She blinks at it. “Probably.”

“Cool.” He cracks his second beer open.

They make their way back to the bathroom. Perona uses another towel to ruffle and dry his hair, and then she pulls on some plastic gloves, and tears open the silver packet. She works the dye through his lightened hair, and when she’s done, pulls her gloves off and disappears. 

She reappears a minute later with black nail polish, and proceeds to sit on the edge of the tub.

They sit without talking, Perona humming a little as she paints her bare nails a glossy black, Zoro sipping at his beer. It feels wonderfully familiar.

Perona walks around swinging her arms through the air to dry her nails, and when she’s satisfied with their state she runs them under cold water, and dries them again. Her cheeks puff out comically when she blows on them to speed it up.  
  
She prods the button on her phone to check the time.

“Okay, you can get in the shower now. Ah, wait, hang on a minute—”

He can hear her hurry down the hallway, followed a shuffling noise. In the meantime, he tosses the second empty can into the bin. He hears her scurry back. 

She presses a tearable packet into his hand, and he squints at the words on it. 

“What is—”

“It’s deep conditioner. And good stuff too, you’re welcome. Just use it after you shampoo again, and try to leave it in at least two minutes.”

Zoro nods.

She disappears again, shutting the bathroom door behind her, and he drops the towel over the chair and steps back into the shower.  
  
The water that washes over him and drags the dye from his hair is a brilliant minty green, and the colour looks fantastic pooling at his feet. It’s soon swallowed by the drain, and the water runs clear.

He manages to leave the conditioner in for a minute and a half. His hair feels silky as he runs his hands through it to wash it out.

When he hops out and towels himself off, he glances to his clothes, crumpled on the bathmat. Figuring they’re still clean, he dresses himself in them and pads out to the lounge. The light of the sun has completely disappeared by now, and Perona has the kitchen light on. He hurries after her before she can attempt to cook something.

She’s stretched on her tip toes, fumbling around in one of the cupboards. When she hears him, she turns.

“You guys have nothing to eat. Do you even have rice?”

Zoro glances around the kitchen. “Uh, no.”

Perona makes a _tch_ sound. “You’re a disgrace to our country.”

“I think there’s leftover mac and cheese in the fridge.”

“Oh boy.”

“We could order pizza?”

Perona waves a hand. “We’ll eat the leftovers. Do you have popcorn, though? We need popcorn.”

“Well, we don’t _need_ —”

“Yes, we do. We _need_ it.”

Zoro sighs and begins to rifle through drawers and cupboards. 

They do not have popcorn.

Perona is unimpressed.

He knows her complaining will be ceaseless, and so he tells her he’ll be back in 15, and grabs the keys to his bike.

The corner store sells popcorn, and he goes with buttered—he doesn’t like the sugary kind, so Perona can suck it.

When he gets back to the apartment, he finds her draped across the couch again. She’s let her hair down, pink waves fanning out everywhere, and changed her clothes. The pyjama set she has on consists of a tank top with lace trims, and loose long pants, which are hot pink and patterned with little skulls and ghosts. 

He notices she’s hugging Kumae to her chest—a small, classic brown teddy bear, with a blue and white striped cap. He’s looking worn, but the same as ever. Zoro knows he’s something she’s had since she was little, and one of the only things she brought with her from Japan when she moved.

Dropping his phone and his keys on the coffee table, (which is surprisingly free of Chopper’s textbooks and clutter) he waves the flat bag of popcorn in the air. “I’ll start popping it.”

He mills around, listening to the kernels popping away merrily. The microwave dings to signal when it’s done, and a final few pops can be heard. Then, a different ding is heard—the whistling iPhone text noise.

Perona’s voice sounds from the other room. “Who’s ‘ _Curly_ ’?”

_Shit._

Zoro rushes out to the lounge, where Perona has his phone in her hand, frowning at the screen. 

He tries to sound disinterested. “Why, what’d they say?”

Perona gives him a funny look and checks the screen again. “Uh, it just says there’s pictures attached.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Ooh, marimo, are you getting _nudes_ from someone?”

“ _No!_ ” He steps forward and snatches his phone from her. 

_God, imagine getting dirty pictures from_ him _—actually, no, don’t imagine that, shit—_

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing!”

Zoro slides the lock, and it opens to his text conversation with the contact named ‘Curly,’ which is Sanji’s contact. His eyes take in the pictures. There are four attached.

They’re of notes. Sanji’s notes, from their shared classes, the ones which Zoro fell asleep in. His handwriting is scrawling and long, and has a sort of uniform neatness to it, despite the letters being individually not particularly tidy.

“Sooo, who is it?” She waits a moment, and then grins madly. “ _Marimo_ , do you have _crush_ on someone? Come on, spit it out!”

He growls up at her. “There is nothing to spit out! He’s a classmate. And a co-worker. He’s doing me a favour by sending me pictures of the notes.”

“Hm. I see.”

Judging by her smug expression as she sits back and folds her arms around Kumae once again, she does not see. Or, she thinks she sees something, but she’s got it wrong. His cheeks feel warm and he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“Popcorn,” he mutters.

When he returns to the sofa with the bowl of popcorn in hand, Perona says nothing. She raises one hand lazily to hit the play button on the remote, and the other drops into the bowl in Zoro’s lap.

The movie is even crappier than they predicted it would be. Zoro finishes the whole casket of beer in the fridge by halfway through, and it is still not any better. 

He props his feet on the coffee table. Perona is sagging against his side, her hair smelling fragrant and feminine, and ticking his neck. The sounds of screams emanating from the TV fade as he drifts off to sleep.

He briefly remembers feeling cold, and then feeling warm again. His feet were moved around somewhere and there’s a weight missing from his side, but heaviness covers him all over, which is nice. He’s not sure he’s in his bed, but he can’t remember where he is. Something touches his temple lightly. 

Sleep wells up and claims him fully.

 

—

 

Zoro wakes on the couch to the sound of the microwave dinging and the fridge being opened and shut.  
  
He rubs at his eyes and sits up, the blanket over him falling from his chest to his lap as he does. The air smells like sweet pastry and he wrinkles his nose.

Stretching and yawning a little, he rolls off the couch and stands.

In the kitchen, Chopper is pouring milk into a bowl of obscenely coloured Fruit Loops, and Usopp is pulling a plate of pop-tarts from the microwave. Zoro is unsure how they can even eat sugary junk like that for breakfast, and he’s sure they shouldn’t be. It’s probably fair game until they buy more bread for toast. And maybe some eggs.

At least Chopper appears to be cutting up orange slices next.

“Morning,” Zoro mumbles.

“Ah, Zoro!” Chopper smiles up at him as he takes his cereal and orange slices to the table. “Did you sleep well?”

“Uh, yeah.” Zoro scratches at his stomach and opens the fridge. 

“Perona’s not up yet?” Usopp grabs an orange slice from the chopping board and sits by Chopper at the little table.

“Guess not.”

“I heard her get in the shower,” Chopper pipes.

Zoro pours himself a glass of milk and grabs the last orange, realising as he does so he’ll have to go grocery shopping to get food for Perona’s breakfast. Or just take her out.

He sits himself down at the table and starts peeling the orange’s skin off.

Chopper beams at him. “Zoro, I had a really great idea last night!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Franky was driving us home in his truck, and we took a detour to go talk to his friends, uh, Kiwi and Mozu—’cause Nami says we should hire another bartender and Franky says they'd be good—and, uh, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. So we drove through the Red Line district and we passed this _huge_ casino, and outside were these girls in these outfits that totally reminded me of burlesque dancers. Or flapper girls. Like Daisy, in that Great Gatsby movie that came out a while ago.”

Zoro frowns. He’s not sure he approves of Franky taking Chopper through somewhere like the Red Line district. The kid’s not even eighteen yet. But Franky’s truck is a vehicle structurally close to an armoured tank, so it’s safe at least.

“And what was your great idea?”

“That the Merry should have a burlesque week! It’d be great. A huge part of burlesque stuff is strip teasing, so it’s perfect… and the Merry has the right atmosphere, with dramatic lighting, and Brook has a bunch of jazz records we can use. The costumes are super colourful and awesome, and Nami says we have a lot of stuff that already works, and she and I are gonna go shopping for some extra bits today!”

Zoro sets his empty milk glass down. “Sounds great, Chopper. Don’t work yourself too hard on organising things though, okay?”

Chopper’s eyes are bright and his face is still set in a wide grin. “I can handle it!”

Zoro is about to reply when a shriek tears through the apartment. 

Adrenaline jolts through his body, Usopp falls backward off his chair, and Chopper goes white as a sheet.  
  
Zoro recognises the scream, though, and wills his body to relax as he stands from the table.

“COCKROACH!” Perona’s cry reverberates through the walls. “ZORO, HELP ME! THERE’S A _COCKROACH_ IN THE BATHROOM!”

Zoro can always tell which scream is the cockroach-scream.

He looks to Usopp, who has his hands clutched over his heart, still sprawled on the ground, and then to Chopper, who hasn’t moved an inch, like a deer in the headlights.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as an additional note, if there's ever anything you want to Merry to do, or outfits you want people to wear, just drop a comment! p.s. though police uniforms are already planned, so don't worry about suggesting those :-)


	9. The Night Circus: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually named after my favourite book; note that it's part 1! I decided to split it into two parts. As it is, this chapter is a little longer than usual I believe  
> Also, before you read, if you don't know what a babydoll is then just google 'sheer babydoll'  
> I have more to say but I'll say it after so as not to spoil anything~

Sanji suspects he may have died and gone to heaven.

Except, the atmosphere is far from holy. A club on the borderline of heaven and hell perhaps, populated by devils and angels alike; entirely divine. Sanji is a shivering mortal.

He feels like every fantasy he’s ever had holds but a weak candle flame to the blazing, brilliant dream which he currently stands within.

Everything is washed in red and pink tones, hazy and glowing. Lively bodies dance in a sea, and apparently the word of Burlesque Week has spread, because some are dressed in 20’s style cocktail dresses. Feather boas and pearls adorn shoulders and necks, fishnet tights cross up smooth legs. The booths at the back are packed with people laughing and toasting with martini glasses, and the stage is filled with dancers in eye-catching corsets, garters strapped to the tops of tights, glossy heels abusing the wood panelled surface. The bills are already floating down to the stage and being tucked in stockings, and it’s only the warm up.

The Merry herself looks like a dream: lights are strung like imploding stars on every surface, temporary chandeliers blossom from the roof with glassy prisms sparkling and shining, crimson cloths are draped over the tables littered with tealight candles. Red neon light cables rope across the floor, curving under the bar and around the edge of the stage, avoiding the centre of the room. The curved couches where patrons sit to watch the dancers up close have plush, plum and ruby coloured cushions pressed to them.

Most impressive is the piano beside the stage. A vase of red roses sits atop it, petals decorating the black lacquered surface. Brook sits on the piano’s velvet stool: dark shades on, a grin spanning his face, gloved fingers dancing over the keys. Sanji is told Brook brought it from his own house (with Franky’s assistance) and quite honestly, he’s never been more curious to see what the inside of the musician’s house could possibly look like. Accompanying Brook’s piano tune is jazz music, resonating from the many speakers of the sound system, directed by Usopp tonight. The way the raunchy tune bounces from the walls is a tantalising feat of acoustics.

His mind can’t stop wandering to the costumes he knows he’ll see tonight. He’d got a ride with Nami and arrived very early, because they’d been setting everything up for the first night of Burlesque Week. Most of the Merry’s crew had pitched in to help decorate. When that was done, Chopper had excitedly shown Sanji all the costumes he had planned.

For a Monday night, the turnout of patrons was incredible: the posters outside, and the update on the their website and facebook page must have done the trick. The fever of the club and the anticipation of the tonight’s lineup has Sanji elated and buzzing.

He knows what he’s looking forward to.

 

—

 

Nami looks absolutely beautiful as she steps out onto the stage.

It’s cleared of the dancers, and the music has been taken down to a hum for present time, Brook pausing his ministrations of the piano.

She holds a microphone in one white gloved hand.

Her gloves stretch to above her elbows, and a white feather boa drapes over her arms below the elbows. A pale gold cocktail dress clings to her form, thin straps looping delicately over her shoulders, sequins adorning the bust, and tassels layered down the rest of its length. Her shoes, strappy sandal stilettos, are a similar shade.

Circling her head is a metallic braided headband, and tucked into it is a pure white, pluming feather.

Sanji wants her to step on him with her lovely golden heel.  
  
“Welcome—” is all she manages to get out, before a chorus of cheers interrupts her. She smiles and waits for it to die down before she tries again.

“Welcome to the Going Merry, and our first night of Burlesque Week!”

More cheers.

“Tonight, we have a special performance to start the show off. We have a double act by none other than The Desert Princess and Fire Wrist Ace!”

The loudest bout of cheers yet. Nami clicks her way off the stage briskly and the crowd’s cheering is muffled a little by the music starting up again in full swing.

Sanji is blessedly free from drink requests. As it is, the tabs are overflowing.

A jaunty drumroll clashes over the speakers and at it’s climax, the curtain is parted, Ace and Vivi stepping into spotlights on the stage.

They’re dressed as if for a magic show—a magician and assistant, smart tuxedo suit and complimentary flashy, revealing costume.

Sanji had known this was the case—when Chopper showed him, his favourite had been the night blue corset and slip. Glitter in the corset's threads sparkle beneath a sheer babydoll, open at the front but tied with a loose silk bow below the chest. It’s paired with black sheer tights, and garters with rhinestones set in the straps are clipped to them.

However, he had not expected Ace to be wearing it.

He can’t deny, the man looks stunning. The twinkling stars of the garment match the stars freckling his skin, and the delicate sheer babydoll he wears only accentuates his masculine form, contrasting and coy.

And then there’s  _Vivi._

Sanji would never have imagined a woman could look good in a suit—suits were what he wore, they were masculine.

He’d never been _so_ wrong in his life: Vivi looked devastatingly sexy. Black high waisted slacks cut off to reveal glossed black stilettos. A white dress shirt is tucked into them, buttoned up along her bosom and meeting a bow tie at the base of her throat. She wears dainty white gloves, revealed by the cuffs of her smart, tailored jacket. Her hair cascades like a waterfall from beneath a top hat.

Sanji is beginning to think he needs to be a little more open minded about these things. _It’s certainly something else._

He is finally interrupted from his thoughts by someone ordering a drink, and he whips up a Long Island Iced Tea in no time, telling the girl she should have a glass of water after it and smiling at her warmly.

Upon returning his attentions to the stage, he sees that Ace’s babydoll has come off. He’s parading around a little, Vivi moving with him, flourishing her hands dramatically to direct attention to various parts of Ace as they twist and turn. The next moment they stop, and Vivi makes a show of removing her gloves, tossing them away.

Ace circles her, stealing her top hat with a smirk, placing it on his own head. He trails hands across her, running them down her jacket, sliding it off.

Vivi twirls around him, returning the favour and slipping her hands across his shoulders. She positions one of his arms out—and then she’s unbuttoning her shirt, and laying it on his arm. He beams like magician’s assistant should, a broad showbusiness smile, as her bra is revealed. Whistles and applause from the crowd break out at the sight of a night blue, bejewelled bralette.

This dance continues; touch, remove, display, applause.

A zipper that Sanji hadn’t noticed before down the back of Ace’s corset is found by Vivi’s hand. Bills flutter down, tossed on stage, as he shimmies out of it and a skimpy ink-coloured brazilian style thong is exposed.

Sanji is suddenly bombarded by a large group requesting tequila shots.

When he looks back to the stage, Ace is twirling about the pole, stopping upside down, and undoing Vivi’s pants for her. She feigns surprise at seeing herself wearing a pair of underwear that matches Ace’s.

The piano is being run to it’s last legs by Brooke as Ace and Vivi shimmy across the stage, starting a dance where they tango, arch their backs, sway their hips, and twirl each other. Vivi’s hair is a fantastic blue blur. The song is reaching it’s peak, and Vivi grabs Ace by the waist, bending him over as if to kiss him. As the music reaches a ferocious finale they freeze in the pose.

Cheers and whoops lace the air and the audience applauds enthusiastically. Ace and Vivi straighten and step apart to take a bow, grinning at each other before moving to pick up their discarded garments and the fistfuls of notes.

Sanji’s heart is racing and he’s not sure if the poor thing can make it through to closing time.

 

—

 

“Perona! It’s been a while!”

Perona pulls back from hugging Nami, half expecting glitter to have made it onto her own front—thankfully it has not—and smiles at the other girl. “It has. You’re looking good tonight!”

Nami beams at her. “Thanks.”

Down the hall, Zoro disappears into what Perona can only assume are the changing rooms.

“So, I heard you and Vivi finally got together?”

Nami rubs the back of her head a little and looks to the side, the corners of her mouth turning up into a bashful smile. It’s unusual, due to her usually straightforward and shameless nature, but somehow becoming of her.

“Yep, we did, a couple months ago.”

Perona thinks it’s sweet how different Nami acts toward her girlfriend, and she’s glad to see that she’s finally happy.

Nami gestures down the hall to the door which Zoro disappeared into.

“Wanna come in?”

“Sure.”

“So, how’s beauty school going?”

“Oh, really good! I’m having sooo much fun, honestly. Although, on the downside, there are only two cute guys in my class... one’s gay, and one’s taken.” She pouts a little.

“Ah, that sucks,” Nami gives her a little shrug as she pushes in through the door. “You’ll find someone! Don’t be in too much of a rush.”

The room which they enter is reminiscent of a locker room, but is also equipped with a bunch of vanity mirrors and tables that remind Perona of her own classroom. The space is overflowing with clothing racks.

“Chopper?” Nami calls out.

A teenager pokes his head around the side, large brown eyes blinking curiously at Perona and then moving to focus on Nami.

“Oh, Nami! You’re here! Good. I’ll go find your mic, Usopp dropped it off earlier…”

His head disappears. Nami leans on one of the tables.

Perona can’t _see_ Zoro, and while she’s sort of impatient about that (because she can’t wait to see him in one of these costumes—her marimo, _a stripper_ ) she also doesn’t want to accidentally see any of the other strippers naked.

An idea curls into her brain and she shuffles gleefully closer to Nami, leaning in to whisper near the redhead’s ear.

“Zoro was acting really funny last night when he got a text from someone, who he said was his co-worker. And he _says_ he’s not seeing anyone, but if I’m right—and I’m always right—he totally has a crush on someone. Have you noticed anything?”

Nami licks her lower lip and frowns a little. “I hadn’t noticed Zoro being odd around anyone? Did he mention any names?”

“The contact was called ‘Curly.’”

Nami’s eyes go very wide very quickly and a dangerous grin spreads across her face. In her excitement, she forgets to whisper. “Seriously?”

“Ssh!” Perona waves a hand and then nods emphatically. “Yes! Who is it?”

“That has to be—”

“Nami! You’re on! Announcement #2, remember, Zoro and Robin!” Chopper rushes toward Nami, who takes the mic from him and stands. She taps quickly away from Perona, holding her free hand up in a ‘wait there’ gesture. “I’ll be right back, hang on!”

After Nami disappears, Perona can hear a faint “Hey babe!” and other indistinguishable chatter, and the sound of a high five.

She fiddles with the lace on the hem of a corset lying on the table.

Nami is back after a minute or two, and more out of sight steps and voices can be heard (Perona can catch a ‘good luck’) before she reappears around the side of the lockers.

“Phew, ok! Sorry about that. But shit, Zoro’s going on now, and you don’t want to miss him, right? Let’s go!”

Perona grins as she and Nami race back out to the hall, and toward the door at the end, where music can be heard.

“So, who’s ‘Curly’?”

Excited as Perona may be about getting 21st birthday photo material of Zoro, she’s also extremely interested in finding out about his potential crush. It’s been years since Zoro’s shown interest in, well, _anyone_.

Nami shoots a lopsided grin over her shoulder as she pushes through the door. She has to raise her voice a little as they go inside, but the music is not offensively loud like Perona had been anticipating. “We’ll go meet him now.”

Perona follows her in, and her eyes pop.

She knows it’s a special occasion, but still—this is the classiest strip club Perona’s ever been in. Granted, she hasn’t been in many at all, but she’s been in a plenty of clubs and bars, and the Going Merry is one of the nicest yet.

Despite it’s industrial looking exterior and utilitarian set of back rooms, the inside is unique, lavish, and very spacey—but presently a little cramped. It’s currently decked out to look like a cross between a casino, a jazz scene, and a neon-lit dance club.

Pinks are everywhere and everything is either glowing or glittering. Perona approves.

She and Nami weave their way through the crowds, toward the bar. Perona tries to get a good look at the stage.

It’s not too difficult, seeing as it’s raised, and when Perona locates Zoro, she can’t help grinning madly.

It seems that he and Robin have undergone a traditional-role swap. Robin is wearing high waisted dress pants, a matching tailored jacket with rolled up white cuffs, and a fitted white dress shirt. A creamy bow tie blossoms like a white rose beneath her chin. Her shoes are wickedly pointed stilettos, and a silky top hat perches on her equally smooth head.

Zoro is dressed in a complimentary costume—a magician’s assistant type deal. A babydoll style slip floats around him, it’s sheer fabric just revealing the garment below: a corset which is dark and glittering, pulling into his waist, carving up his hips, pulling down over his chest. Thigh high tights are clipped to garters, bejewelled straps running up under the corset to disappear.

Perona nods to herself in a satisfied manner, lowering the hand that had been covering her mouth in an unconscious gesture of delight.

Her marimo looks fine as hell, as she’d expected. His musculature and height has certainly filled out in the last couple of years. She can’t believe he’d refused her offers of co-ordinating cute outfits like this for him, back when they were teenagers.

 _He looks deliciously adorable_ , she thinks—and he’d probably ignore her for a week if she used those exact words aloud, but it’s true.

She realises Nami has got ahead of her, and squeezes through bodies to catch up.

They’re almost at the bar when Perona bumps into Nami, who has stopped, and Perona’s about to open her mouth but her eyes fall to the boy behind the counter island.

His hands are frozen mid-way through cleaning a class. They’re long fingered and well kept.

He wears a cream button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a black silk vest over the top. A black tie is tucked neatly into it. His head is directed toward the stage.

Blonde hair falls over one eye, but Perona can just see that the other is a sea blue, and is fixated on something, moving as if tracking minute movements. Lips are parted slightly and a flush is creeping up his neck.  
  
Perona turns her own neck, and sees that on stage, Robin is stalking about Zoro. She’s smiling that disconcertingly charming smile at him, reaching out to tug an end of the silk bow of his babydoll. It comes unraveled.

She then slinks around him in the opposite way, and in a simple movement, lifts it off him completely. He shrugs out of it to help, in a fluid movement, following her dance. He completes a full turn as he does. The corset’s sparkles wink like stars.

He turns his back to the audience, leaning an elbow on Robin’s shoulder casually. With a flourish of her hand, as if concluding a magic trick, Robin gestures to Zoro as if it is a miracle she is indicating: a live pigeon, a white rabbit, some other sort of feat—and not Zoro’s ass and back muscles.

Perona supposes they _are_ pretty magical.

It’s clear the bartender agrees.

Nami glances back at her and jerks her head a bit toward the bar, gesturing for Perona to follow.

“Sanji!” She waves, and the blond head snaps around to her guiltily.

And then Perona sees the eyebrow. The single, visible, magnificently curled eyebrow.

“Nami, my sweet!” Sanji grins broadly, and then his light eyes slide over Nami and to Perona, and that curly brow raises. The smile on his face flickers for a moment, watered down and full of effort, before it becomes more natural once more. “And you must be Perona—Usopp and Chopper said that you got here yesterday. I had no idea you were so breathtaking! I hope your bus ride down was pleasant?”

Perona is confused. The split-second forced smile combined with the honest flattery and polite words have thrown her for a loop.

“It wasn’t so bad. Though Zoro _was_ late to pick me up, not that I expected any different.”

A sympathetic smile. “A lady like yourself shouldn’t have to wait. But I’m guessing you, ah, don’t mind the wait to see him.” He beams at her and she sort of wishes he would stop. His dark circles betray fatigue.

He’s tiptoeing around subjects, Perona can feel it. Why would— _ah._

She pieces it all together: his strange betrayals of discomfort and the efforts of chivalry, the way he was staring up at the stage, the way he looks at her now.

Perona’s always been going at reading people. She has a certain knack for pinpointing people’s insecurities, or being able to predict their phobias.

She can sense Nami beside her, and notes how she’s mildly tense. It reads more as curiosity than anything else. A mischievous smile is tugging her lips upward, trying in vain to be suppressed.

Nami then, had already picked up on the fact that Sanji has a thing for the marimo. _How delightful._

Even better yet, is that Sanji clearly doesn’t know anything about Perona, or her relationship with Zoro.

And if Perona’s right—and she’s always right—Sanji is under the impression that Perona is Zoro’s _girlfriend_ , of all things.

“No, I don’t mind at all.” Perona bats her eyelashes and smiles sweetly, turning her gaze to the stage. Robin has thrown her jacket aside, and is now using Zoro as a coat rack as she peels off her shirt and drapes it over his extended arm, revealing a bright red, tasseled, and beaded bralette. The sides of it link up to form a choker around her throat that sparkles like fresh blood when she swallows. Ruby coloured jewels drip from it. Whoever picks the costumes certainly knows how to play up the performer's strengths, because Robin looks dangerously macabre and sexy all at once, like only Robin could.

Zoro meets her eyes finally, and she gives a him a little wave. She can feel Sanji beside her turning away, back to cleaning the glass. Zoro returns her wave with a barely visible, slightly embarrassed smile that looks a lot like a grimace.

 _Hm,_ maybe it was a grimace.

This should be interesting.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *PERONA RUBBING MISCHIEVOUS LITTLE HANDS TOGETHER*
> 
> okay so this chapter's outfits were totally based of this act that Dita von Teese does: http://roseapodaca.com/wp-content/uploads/DVT_Martini-Act.-1467x1000.jpg I just saw her and I thought. Robin's gotta wear that
> 
> also I'm not sure if anyone else noticed this but last chapter, Pixel was wondering why, when I write from Zoro's point of view, it's not obvious he has a crush on Sanji. You may have also noticed that compared to Sanji's POV, Zoro's isn't as expressive? In this, Zoro is, a lot more emotionally closed off/not expressly emotional. He's more subtle. Sanji is very observant. He notices details about people around him, about the things around him, and he thinks about things a lot. Sanji's an over-thinker tbh. He has a lot of his own thoughts out of control, and it's more like he's speaking directly to the reader/has an expressive monologue, while with Zoro, even from his POV his emotions are contained. He's a contained person. You have to pay more attention to his reactions and actions to get a sense of how he feels while Sanji's an open book. And Zoro does have a bit of a thing for Sanji even if he himself hasn't fully realised it yet. So yeah, that's what's up—I write differently according to their personalities! I think Sanji will definitely help Zoro open up more though, and Zoro will help Sanji to calm down some.
> 
> p.s. if you're dying waiting for the next chapter, maybe for fun go back to last chapter and see if you can pick up on a pattern there whenever Perona holds up something for Zoro to see/read. If any of you have the patience to I'd love to hear your theories~


	10. The Night Circus: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes the first night of burlesque week, and part 2 of this chapter!  
> It's part 2 of a whole, so it's a short-ish chapter, but it's also more than a week early!! woo. I was excited to finish it.  
> again thank you sm for your praise! you guys keep me motivated. i'm sorry i didn't reply to any of last chapter's comments, i've been busy, as well as for some, I didn't wanna reveal spoilers :V thank you all, and enjoy!!

 Sanji knew she’d be here tonight.

As soon as his eyes slid past Nami, gaze drawn to the girl she had in tow, he knew it was her.

Her hair is pink, bubblegum bangs cutting off to shadow large round eyes, exaggerated by thick dark makeup. She’s petite, just like he expected, but not as slim and curvy as he imagined. Not any less attractive of course—ladies of any weight and shape are beautiful. Her nose is short and her lips are painted magenta. A frilly black shirt with a square cut neckline reveals pale skin, and a red miniskirt cuts off at the tops of her thighs. She wears sheer tights with opaque black hearts patterning them.

_She’s wonderful! Beautiful! Exquisite!_

_She’s his girlfriend,_ a second voice cries. _She’s the reason you have no chance!_

A third, his voice of reason, chides him. _I can’t hate her. She’s a woman; she’s innocent. It’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault._

Sanji beats his jealously down with a bat of pure willpower.

 _It’s my own fault for liking him too much,_ another voice, malicious and intrusive, whispers.  _Stupid, stupid. Wh_ _at makes you think you had a chance, anyway?_

He ignores this voice, and finds his own in his throat.

“And you must be Perona—Usopp and Chopper said that you got here yesterday. I had no idea you were so breathtaking! I hope your bus ride down was pleasant?”

He wishes she wouldn’t stare at him like that. Her pupils are like saucers in the lighting of the club, a void staring into him, through to his skeleton and his naked thoughts.

_And she looks so cute while she does it, too._

She gives a curious, sweet smile.

“It wasn’t so bad. Though Zoro _was_ late to pick me up, not that I expected any different.”

Her voice is simultaneously petulant _and_ chipper.

Sanji almost rolls his eyes. Of course _Zoro_ would make a woman wait! Even his own girlfriend. Sanji would almost feel sorry that she’s dating such a directionally challenged man—if it didn’t sting him that she was.

 _She probably doesn’t mind,_ he thinks. She’s probably fond of it.

It hits him that this woman is probably in _love_ with Zoro.

He can’t say it. He can barely think it. He realises he’s getting close to seeming slow with his reply.

“A lady like yourself shouldn’t have to wait. But I’m guessing you, ah, don’t mind the wait to see him.”

His own smile feels heavy on his face. She tilts her head a little, still watching him like he’s a fascinating magic trick. His skin burns. A smile creeps onto her face again, and she flutters her eyelashes.

“No, I don’t mind at all.” She looks over to the stage dreamily. It puts a sharp spike through Sanji’s chest.

Her eyes brighten a little as she spots Zoro, and she raises one of her hands to give a cheery little wave. She looks so happy. Sanji has to be happy for her. For her and Zoro both. He _is_ happy.

_He is happy._

_It doesn’t hurt at all._

He looks down at the immaculate glass in his hands, and uses the cloth to rub at mark that isn’t there.

 

—

 

As soon as she can, Perona throws her arms around Zoro.

His skin is still hot and slightly damp from his dance, but he’s changed into a black singlet with the Red Hot Chili Peppers logo on it, and plain jeans. She remembers him buying the shirt years ago. It’s no longer loose on him.

She pulls back, grinning at him.

He raises an eyebrow at her. _Hm. Maybe I’m overdoing the physicality of this._

“You looked _great_ on stage,” she simpers.

Red flushes his cheeks at that, like she knew it would. Teasing him is too easy.

“You better not have taken photos,” he grumbles.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

“She didn’t,” Nami says while leaning in. “It’s against the rules.”

Perona sighs. “At least I’ll always have the images in my brain. You know, you should borrow some of my lingerie some time.”

A choking noise from behind the bar widens Perona’s smile.

Sanji is staring furiously down at a glass. When he feels her eyes on him, he gives a mildly pained, apologetic smile.

“Something in my throat, pardon me. Glass… of water…” He turns to the tap and Perona turns back to Zoro who looks mildly horrified at her prior suggestion.

“I am not _ever_ wearing your underwear.”

She almost rolls her eyes. _It’s not like I’d actually let you wear my nice lingerie, marimo. Gross. Plus we’re totally not the same size._

However, Sanji’s reaction definitely was interesting. There’s no longer any uncertainty in her mind about the situation.

She sits back on her bar stool, beside Nami, and Zoro sits on her other side.

“Sanji, whiskey.”

Sanji turns on Zoro, mouth open indignantly—

“He meant, a whiskey _please,_ ” interjects Perona, smiling at Zoro. And yet another brilliant idea hits her—she’s having lots of them, lately—so she fixates her smile on Sanji. “And I’d like another blow job, please.”

His pale skin flushes delectably pink across his cheeks, much like the first time she’d ordered the cocktail. This time, he seems even more flustered, and his voice hitches a little at the beginning of his sentence. “O-Of course, my dear!”

It’s fun to watch as he pours first the creamy Bailey’s into a small glass, and then dark Kahlua, which pools beneath it to form a two toned, double layered drink. The whipped cream is then artfully swirled on top of the drink, and delicately pierced with a straw, before hands it to her with a smile. He clears away her previous glass.

Zoro’s whiskey is deposited in front of him soon after, quickly and casually, without a second look. Sanji then gets to washing Perona’s old glass.

Zoro doesn’t seem to notice, focus completely on his drink as he downs half of it in the first go. Perona doesn’t bother to roll her eyes anymore.

She sips at her drink and enjoys the piano tune that’s rolling through the air.

“So, do most people disappear after their routines?”

Nami looks over to Perona, one hand around her lemonade. “Mm, not always. You know Vivi went home, you saw me give her the car keys. I expect Robin’s gone too, she seemed tired. Ace I saw flirting with some cute guy, so he’s probably gone home with them by now. I think everyone else is still here.”

Perona giggles a little. “You say that Ace went home with someone in such a bored tone.”

“Honestly,” Nami sighs. “That man is unstoppable. His own bed misses him most nights of the week. To be fair, he hangs out at friend’s places a lot, crashing on Marco’s couch or whatever. But he picks up guys and girls so often, it’s like seeing Luffy eat a kilogram of meat: impressive at first, but now we’re used to it.”

“I presume he never brings them back to his and Luffy’s place, though?”

Nami snorts. “Hell no, he doesn’t intend on traumatising his poor brother.”

Perona hushes her voice and leans in a little. “Wait, he and Zoro never—?!”

Nami shakes her head. “Nah. Never.”

“Hm.” Perona looks back to Zoro, who has finished his drink, and is trying to catch Sanji’s attention—the blonde’s just served a martini to a girl with an undercut.

“Hey, Zoro! Try my drink, won’t you?” Perona slides her glass over to him. She’s been careful not to drink too much yet, or to disturb the piled cream.

He frowns a little. “You know I hate sweet things.”

“Just try it. It’s like, forty percent alcohol.”

Zoro shrugs at that, and picks up her glass, moving the straw like she knew he would, to take a sip from the glass.

Sanji is watching them out of the corner of his eye. 

Zoro puts it down and wrinkles his nose a little. “Way too sweet. I have no idea how you drink that shit.”

Perona beams brightly at Zoro.

Specifically, she beams at the smear of whipped cream on the corner of his mouth, white against dark pink lips.

“Ah, marimo,” she says sweetly, “you have a little something there.”

She leans into his space, and reaches up a hand. Carefully, and a little slower than necessary, she uses her thumb to wipe it off. His gold eyes blink into hers with confusion and she sits back.

“All better!”

He grunts. She knows it is his ' _whatever’_ grunt. _Probably already thinking about booze._

“Oi, curlybrow, can I get a refill?”

_Bingo._

Sanji, who has his back turned now, picks up the half empty Jack Daniel’s.

His shoulders are a little tense. A moment of silence passes.

“Why don’t I just leave you the bottle, moss brain.” His voice is rough and tired. His hands deposit the bottle in front of Zoro who smiles a little, and pours himself another glass.

“Thanks.”

Sanji turns to Nami. His hands are in his pockets.

“I need a smoking break.”

Nami frowns at him. “We’re halfway through the final routine, couldn’t you wait a little longer?”

“I’ll be quick.”

She looks at him a moment longer, curved brows drawn together a little, and then shrugs. “Fine, as long as you’re quick. I’ll watch the bar.”

Perona looks at Sanji’s receding back, slender waist and broad shoulders accentuated by the black vest on the light shirt.

_Maybe I overdid it._

He’ll totally thank her for this by the end of the week, though.

 

—

 

“Sanji,” Nami calls out, quiet enough so that no one else hears her.

He steps on the butt of his cigarette, and walks over to her where she is locking the back door of the Merry.

Franky starts up the truck, and Usopp and Chopper pile into it.

“Yes?”

Her eyes peer into his with concern.

“Is everything… okay? You seem a little off.”

He hears shrill laughter, and glances over his shoulder to see Perona standing by Zoro’s bike, a helmet in her hands. Zoro himself is already straddling the bike, and his face is flushing a little, like she’s teasing him about something.

He turns back to Nami and swallows. His mind is wandering to the half-full packet of cigarettes in his pocket: he’ll need to buy more tomorrow, he knows they won’t last.

Putting what he hopes is a charming and convincing smile on his face, he looks Nami in the eyes.

“Everything is fine, mellorine! How kind of you, to worry about me.”

“Really? You’re okay?”

He can’t quite look into her eyes this time.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

_I’m fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, a sadist? me,.?
> 
> i'm so sorry sanji i promise it gets better
> 
> also JUST A NOTE although I feel like the whole blushing trope is overused, both Sanji and Zoro are canonly furious blushers. Like, Sanji blushes bright pink so easily, especially when it comes to women or sexual stuff. And Zoro's whole face blushes when he's embarrassed (even his forehead, how cute) so I have no regrets really bEAR WITH ME


	11. The (Orthographic) Deep End

Zoro drags a hand over his face. He presses his palms to his eyelids, draws air into his lungs, tries to shove the fatigue from his mind. It seems futile, much like the essay he hasn’t written a word of.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s written the title, and he’s named the google document “Biostat first essay.”  
  
Those things don’t change the fact that it was due yesterday, that it’s 9pm on a Tuesday night, and that he just _can’t fucking do it._

His body stands, his quads aching from being cramped on the couch.  
  
He pads to the fridge only to remember he’d finished all his beers. When he nudges the fridge door, it swings shut sadly. He lets his forehead fall against it, hitting his head against the white plastic a few times and making a repetitive dull thumping noise.

“What are you doing?”

Zoro turns his head, and stares at Perona, who stands in the kitchen doorway with a hand on her hip. Her pink hair is secured into two tails that snake down into bouncy curls, and she’s still got her jogging clothes on: A purple sports bra peeking from under a black tank top, grey spandex, pink trainers, headphone wires spilling from the cage of her fingers where she holds an iPod.

Zoro steps away from the fridge, but there’s still a slouch in his posture. “I am doing nothing. That’s the problem.”

Perona frowns, dropping her iPod and its accompanying tangle of headphones onto the counter as she walks up to Zoro. “You still haven’t done much of that essay, huh?”

He shakes his head.

“Come on,” she grabs his hand. “I’ll help you.”

She sits him down at the couch, and starts grilling him on what he’s meant to be writing about. To her dismay, he knows pretty much what Usopp would describe as ‘jack shit,’ which is to say, nothing. The only question he’d been able to answer was “What’s it about?” To which the answer was “an informative essay about the history and applications of biostatistics.”

One of Perona's hands is drumming the top of her knee with its fingertips. “Do you even know how many words it’s supposed to be?”

“Uh, like, 600?”

Perona looks skeptical. “That’s pretty short… then again, it the first essay he’s asked you for and probably counts for nothing. And he has to mark a tonne of them, so maybe you’re right.”

“Thanks.”

Perona ignores his sarcastic comment and bites at her lower lip, abusing the flesh with her teeth. “Is there anyone in the class you’re friends with that you could ask?”

The only person Zoro’s even interacted with—in _any_ class—is Sanji, and his various teachers.

Sanji counts as his friend, right?

“I guess.”

Perona’s gaze bores into him for another few seconds before she rolls her eyes. “And who is that?”

Zoro looks down at his phone on the coffee table in front of him. “Sanji.”

“Great,” Perona smiles. “So text him.”

Zoro doesn’t move to touch his phone.

“What’s the matter?” Her voice isn’t sharp as per usual; it’s gentler.

So Zoro gives.

“I don’t want him to… think I’m stupid.”

Perona’s hands are reaching out for his, and her body is scooted closer to his. She holds one of his hands in her softer, lighter, daintier pair. He thinks if he looks into her eyes, his pieces will start to undo, so he holds himself tightly together, gripping her hand for support.

“Zoro,” her voice is soft again, but serious. “You're not stupid. And he’s not going to think you’re stupid just for asking for help. A stupider man would be one that gives up, right?”

She’s right. He tells her as much, in a husky voice, and then she continues.

“If he does think less of you for asking questions—which I’m sure he won’t, there’s nothing to worry about—then I’ll kick his ass into next week for you. And there’s no reason to care about his opinion anyway, if he’s that stuck up. But I doubt he is, yeah?”

Zoro nods again. “Yeah—you’re right.”

“So go,” she picks her hands up from his and makes a fluttery, shooing motion with them. “Text him. Ask, umm, how many words his was and what sources he used.”

He picks up his phone and opens up his conversation with Sanji. The last messages are the pictures of notes Sanji had sent him, and a reply from Zoro that said “thanks” in all lowercase letters.

Perona waits patiently as he types in the text. He focuses on the keyboard, focuses on picking each letter. He goes word by word, concentrating on the sentences.

“How do you spell ‘sources’?” He asks.

“S, O, U, R, C, E, S.” She spells it out for him, waiting for him to key in each letter before continuing on to the next.

He grunts. “You can’t even hear the ‘u’ sound.”

Perona smiles. “Not really.”

He finishes the text, and looks it over.

The words wriggle like worms.

Letters are dancing back and forth, swapping and switching like bare feet on hot pavement. No matter how hard he concentrates, he doubts they’ll sit still. They never have.

One block of letters is underlined with red dots though, his iPhone keyboard telling him it’s not spelled correctly. He looks at it closely, waiting for the letters to flicker into something discernable. There’s a ‘y,’ an ‘e’, two ‘s’ characters— _essay_ , must be the word. He taps it once, the block highlighting watery tomato red, and the phone offers a correction that doesn’t look any more correct to him. But the red highlight disappears, so it must be fixed.

He holds it up for Perona to see, just in case. “Look good?”

Her eyes skim over it. “Yup. Hit send.”

Zoro does, but then he remembers Sanji’s working right now, and he’s probably too busy to answer texts. He tells Perona as much.

“Just wait a bit,” She says. Her tone is coloured by a secretive smile that he almost misses.

 

—

 

“Like this?”

Mozu’s gray-hazel eyes are trained on the drink as she carefully pours the red syrup into it. It slowly pools at the bottom of the orange drink, making a sunset in a glass.

“Yes, just like that! You’re a natural at this, my dear.” Sanji beams at her and she laughs a little. “Would you like to try something else next? Although, I think we’ve covered all the tricky stuff, and you were already familiar with the basics.”

Mozu straightens up and tucks a curl from her afro behind her ear. “I think I’m fine now, Sanji. Thank you for your help!”

“It was no problem at all,” he assures her.

His eyes skim to the stage, and he ignores the disappoint in his gut when he does not see who he's looking for. He knew he wouldn't, because he's not here tonight. But Sanji looks for him nonetheless, as if wishing him here hard enough could make it happen.

Not that it would matter.

_Fuck, why is he even thinking this? It's a dead end, a closed road, a cliff with no barrier. Zoro is far gone and Sanji should turn around now before he hurts himself._

A rather breathless guy throws himself onto a bar stool, catching Sanji's attention. He looks young, but if Franky’s let him in past security, he must have checked his ID, so he can’t be illegal.

“Vodka shot, please.”

“Coming right up,” Mozu smiles at him.

Sanji is about to open his mouth and insist that she sit down, and he’ll cover it, but his phone vibrates in his pocket—something which rarely happens. No one texts him.

And plus, Mozu will be bartending on her own some nights of the week, so he supposes it’s good practice, even if he has to suffocate the urge to take all her tasks on himself.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and his heart does a little flip when he sees Zoro’s name on the screen. Hastily, he unlocks it and the conversation is pulled up.

 

[ _hey, just wondering how long your essay for biostatistics was. Also, what sources did you use? 9:35PM_  ]

 

Sanji’s brows raise. He’d seen Zoro get berated on Monday when everyone else handed in their essays, or reminded the professor that they’d emailed him it, to which he would nod. Zoro hadn’t provided him one in any form, and seemed pretty embarrassed. Sanji had been too far away to hear whatever excuse Zoro mumbled, but he had assumed it was a heavily euphemised version of _“Sorry sir, my long distance girlfriend and I were too busy having sex.”_

Sanji had immediately felt quite mean after that comment, particularly because it was so derogatory to a delicate, lovely lady like Perona, and also because it reeked of the bitterness and jealousy that he’d decided to steer clear of. However Zoro had explained it, the professor didn’t seem to mind much, and Sanji had watched his hands make a flappy sort of gesture before a relieved looking Zoro trudged up the lecture hall stairs.

Zoro must be speed writing the essay to hand in at tomorrow’s class. Not that speed was necessary; the essay requirement was so short, it shouldn’t take him long.

Sanji’s one had ended up being 200 words over the minimum, but had only taken him about half an hour.

He glances up to see Mozu sliding a shot glass to the younger man, and then leans himself of the Merry’s counter and begins typing a reply.

 

—

 

To his surprise, Zoro’s phone vibrates not two minutes later.

He snatches up his phone and opens it, staring at the message. His frantic heartbeats only scramble the words up more. He focuses on them one by one.

 

[ _Mine was 800 words, but the min is 600. I just used wikipedia plus a few other websites that come up if you google “biostat history” and “biostat applications” 9:37PM_  ]

 

He has no problems up to the word ‘the’ in the first sentence, but he gets stuck on the next one. _“Mine was 800 words, but the sin”_ just doesn’t make sense. _“Mine was 800 words, but the min”_ also doesn’t make much sense. _“Mine was 800 words, but the imn”_ makes the least sense.He decides to skip it, and see if it fits in later.

The next word flickers _si, is._ Must be ‘is.’ The 600 is easy enough to read with two zeroes and in context.

Oh—the missing word must be ‘min.’ As in, the minimum length is 600 words.

Zoro wonders how long it’ll take to write 600 words. He wants to curl in on himself.

Perona’s toying with the tips of her hair contentedly as he reads. He resists the urge to cave and get her to read it for him, like he usually would.

He spends what seems like forever trying to figure out ‘wikipedia’ before he gets it, and ‘websites’ stumps him for a good few minutes too. Google is easy to recognise with two g’s and two o’s. Biostat isn’t too hard. The final word, applications, he gets by guesswork pretty quickly—after all, it comes after “biostat history” and another “biostat”, so it couldn’t really be anything else.

He puts the phone down on the table and heaves a sigh. “I was right about the words. Also, he says he just used wikipedia, and a few sites that came up when he googled the keywords. So the stuff can’t be hard to find.”

“Great! Let’s get started, then. Google those sites!” She points dramatically toward his laptop, where a screensaver of a Japanese garden stays static, the time displayed in the bottom left corner.

It takes them ten minutes to open all the necessary pages in new tabs, Perona helping him decide which ones are worth using or not, so he doesn’t waste time reading them.

Perona tells him writing an introduction is easier once you’ve written the whole essay, so they start on the body. They piece together a brief paragraph about the formation of biostatistics as a practice, which was mainly thanks to three dead scientists, and then a paragraph which briefly outlines the different uses: public health purposes, including epidemiology, health services research, nutrition, environmental health, the design and analysis of clinical trials in medicine, the assessment of severity state of a patient, and population analysis. At this point, Perona concludes they have about 400 words, and that now they can tack on an intro and conclusion and be done with it.

It’s quarter past 11 by the time they’re done, and letters spin behind his eyelids. The back of his eye sockets feel sore from staring at the screen so intensely. Perona yawns behind a hand, and his body decides it needs to yawn too.

“Now, just email it to him. Link him the doc, or whatever.”

Perona uses her finger to direct him to the blue share link button up the top right of the google docs page.

They have to go to his university’s website to track down his lecturer's email address, but finally Zoro hits send. He closes all the tabs and relief floods him.

He wrote an essay. It was only 600 words, and Perona helped, but he did it. It took him— _shit,_ it took them just under two hours. He wonders how long it would’ve taken if the essay been something proper, with a 3000 word quota or something like that. Or if he had to do it alone. Dread coils in his stomach.

His voice comes out low and fragile.

“What the fuck am I gonna do?”

His question isn’t specific, but Perona knows exactly what he means.

She rests her head against his shoulder. “You’ll think of something. You can do this, Zoro. You just have to ask for help.”

 _That’s something easier said than done,_ he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN A BIT MORE THAN TWO WEEKS but hello!  
> so, hopefully by now it's clear that Zoro is in fact, dyslexic.  
> I've been doing a lot of research on dyslexia of course, so just a quick fact in relation to Zoro: at this age, people with dyslexia have usually learned to cope with it very well, but Zoro is a little different. The best way to help dyslexics is to start young, which Zoro didn't, and the more you ignore the problem the harder it gets. So, he's sort of an exaggerated case, and it will all make a little more sense when we find out more about his past—but that's basically it.  
> pls appreciate my chapter title which is taken from the movie "The Deep End" but has "Orthographic" in it: orthographic depth basically means "how much fuckshittery happens in a language between spelling and speaking." English and French have comparatively "deep" phonemic orthographies, with all our weird rules, and exceptions to rules, and silent letters and funny pronunciations when letters are combined. Which makes it all the more difficult for people with dyslexia, and is another reason for Zoro, whose first language isn't English, to hate writing in English (even more than Japanese, which he still isn't fond of.)
> 
> I have 2 weeks of exams coming up, but hopefully it won't interfere too much with the next update! Also, itsmylifekay and I are working on a new zosan fic together, which you'll see very soon, so keep an eye out if ur interested!


	12. (No Longer) Clueless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy okay I am a week late, but hey, all my practice exams and some real tests are over, woo!  
> enjoy this week's chapter! I'm sorry it's broken up into so many pieces but hopefully it won't be a bother

“Sanji!”

Sanji turns his head to see Conis jogging toward him, waving a hand, a to-go hot drink clutched in the other.  
  
Her presence stirs the frigid morning air, her breath curls warm beneath his chin. She tucks a wisp of bone blond hair behind her ear, cheeks rosy and stung, smile sunny. He returns it.

“Sorry I’m late.”  
  
“It’s no problem at all, my dear. Shall we walk?”  
  
She nods, and they begin down the concrete path carving its way through the park.  
  
Sanji expects the trees to shiver, but everything is still. The far end of the park is obscured by mid-May fog. He’s eager for Summer to come, to swallow Spring in its heat. Misty mornings make him ache.  
  
Whenever Conis and he have a morning class at the same time, they meet here to walk through the park to campus. Sanji usually catches a bus that takes him closer to the campus and the side he needs to be on, but he doesn’t mind. Conis is a delight to spend time with.  
  
She chats to him about the assignment she has due and the survey she’s setting up for it, about the new pastry at her favourite café, about the kitten her neighbour adopted last week. Her words are warmer than hot chocolate, and he revels in them. It wipes the taste of bitterness from his mouth, if only for a little while.  
  
He dumps his crumpled coffee cup in one of the rubbish bins dotting the curb of the path.  
  
“So, Sanji.”  
  
Her tone catches his attention and and he turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow. She smiles so that the apples of her cheeks shine, and tilts her head a little.  
  
“You’ve been awfully distracted lately.”  
  
A flush creeps up his neckline.  
  
“Ah, have I? My apologies, you deserve my fullest attention, sweet Conis! I’ve probably been thinking about—” he licks his lower lip, “—work. It’s been busy.”  
  
“Hm.” Conis looks out to the edges of the park, where the fog has receded enough in front of them to reveal the iron gates leading out onto the street. The tops of the spikes are curled like his eyebrows, as she had pointed out last week.  
  
“If you say so,” she smiles a little.  
  


—  
  


The pad of paper in front of Zoro is empty, Sanji’s watch reads half past noon, and the students are shuffling down the stairs of the lecture hall.  
  
This is standard.  
  
But there is something which is not standard, and that is that Zoro stayed awake for the whole lecture. Sanji wonders if his muscles are sore now; the man had stayed taut, as if the hard lines of his body helped him focus on the professor’s words.  
  
Zoro stretches those muscles now, reaching arms out and arching his back like a cat, before standing, and scooping his things into a backpack.  
  
Sanji’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Nami’s contact name flashes on the screen, and a small swell of joy fills him.

[ _u and zoro just finished a lecture right? come to the cafeteria, usopp and I r getting lunch now :) 12:31PM_ ]

  
He texts her back _‘Sure thing. See you soon!’_ and looks up to see Zoro eyeing him.   
  
“What are you gawking at, moss head?”  
  
“You were making a stupid face.”  
  
“Nonsense. I don’t make stupid faces.”  
  
“You’re always making them.”  
  
Sanji flushes a little at that. “Shut up. At least I don’t have your face, which is stupid permanently.”  
  
Zoro snorts. “Whatever you say, dartbrow.”  
  
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Sanji stomps past Zoro, not bothering to look back. “Hurry up, Nami is waiting for us at the cafeteria. Usopp too.”  
  
By the time he’s reached the door, Zoro has caught up to him.  
  
“Don’t get lost,” Sanji throws over his shoulder as they walk out into the hall.  
  
“How could I get lost _following_ you,” Zoro mutters.  
  
Sanji just smiles.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Nami waves them over with a braceleted hand. She’s wearing a bright yellow tank top and blue jeans, a smoothie sitting in front of her. Usopp is beside her, immersed in whatever he’s drawing in his opened sketchbook, charcoal smudges on his cheek and glasses sliding down his nose. It looks to Sanji like a mechanical diagram of some kind.  
  
Zoro immediately pulls a tupperware container from his backpack, and Sanji eyes the contents curiously. Neatly tucked onigiri are filed in a line. He raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Did you make those yourself? They’re well made.”  
  
Zoro glances down at the one he’s holding in his hand, as if seeing it for the first time.  
  
“Nah, Perona made these.”  
  
“Ah.” Sanji’s throat is dry. “I should’ve known, what with their delicacy. Also, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to buy a coffee.” He smiles brightly at Nami as he leaves.  
  
He glances over at their table as he stands in line. Nami is pouting at Usopp, who’s smiling a little as he rolls his eyes, and Zoro is focused on his food.  
  
When he returns, Nami rounds on him, all big brown eyes and clasped hands.  
  
“ _Sanji_ will come, won’t he?”  
  
“Of course, mellorine!” he sits down and dumps his messenger back by his seat, taking the lid from the coffee cup to cool it. “What am I, uh, coming to?”  
  
Nami’s smile inches wider. “A party on Saturday. A friend of Vivi’s is throwing it, and I’m invited and apparently as many friends as she wants are also invited. It’s gonna be huge.”  
  
Sanji offers her a shrug. “I don’t mind parties. Sounds fun.” His eyes flick to Zoro before he secures them back on his coffee, watching the chocolate powder blend into the foam as he stirs it with a plastic paddle. “Who else is going?”  
  
“Me, Vivi, Usopp—”  
  
“I have not agreed to yet,” Usopp interjects.  
  
“—Luffy will, even though I haven’t told him yet, he loves parties. And so Ace will go too—he’s designated Luffy-sitter at parties. Chopper’s got homework, everyone else has work at the Merry. Oh, you don’t on Saturday, do you Zoro?”  
  
Zoro shakes his head.  
  
“So you’ll come?”  
  
He shrugs. “I guess. Better than staying at home watching Chopper study and getting secondhand stress.”  
  
“And Zoro!” Nami beams at Sanji.  
  
“What about Perona?” Sanji looks to Zoro. The man blinks at him.  
  
“She’s catching a bus home Saturday morning.”  
  
“Ah. I see. Well, a party sounds good to me. I’ll finally be _drinking_ the alcohol, not serving it.”  
  
His coffee is bitter despite the two packets of sugar he dumps in it.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“So you _don’t_ like him?”  
  
Zoro hands her a helmet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Perona wiggles it over her head, being careful not to mess up her makeup, and grins at him through the open visor.  
  
“So you won’t mind if I flirt with him, then?”  
  
Zoro starts the bike. “Flirt with whoever you want. Though I didn’t think he was your type.”  
  
Perona wraps her arms around Zoro’s waist and plasters herself to his back. “He’s cute though, don’t you think?”  
  
No reply.  
  
She raises her voice over the rush and the roar.  
  
“What is my type, then?”  
  
For a beat of her heart, she thinks Zoro hasn’t heard her, but his voice carries to her in the next moment.  
  
“Too old for you and rich enough to spoil you.”  
  
Her laughter is stolen by the wind as they rip down the street.  
  
  
—  
  
  
It’s not like Zoro has a lot of spare time to look around when he’s dancing, but he can’t help noticing that Perona is glued to Sanji’s side.  
  
She’d disappeared off toward the bar when they got here, Zoro splitting off to the changing rooms. She seems animated, and overly so. The whole sweet act she puts on for guys makes Zoro roll his eyes.  
  
He and Ace are performing a new routine, which includes both his katana _and_ fire, making it as flashy as possible in the nature of Burlesque week. His eyes use every spare moment to stray over to the bar.  
  
Sanji’s blonde hair is bleached in backlight, and Perona’s hair looks wonderfully pink under the ambient light and red glow. She twirls a strand in her finger, leaning forward so that the curve of her breast spills from her lace cut singlet. Sanji fumbles the glass of whiskey he’s pouring, and Perona giggles. Zoro tears his gaze away, moving into the next position where he stands back-to-back with Ace.  
  
_Had she meant it, when she said she thought he was cute?  
_  
Zoro supposes Sanji is sort of good looking.  
  
Well muscled, almost six foot, strong jaw and nose—though it’s a little crooked, like it’s been broken. Waves of blonde hair, high cheekbones, and those slate blue eyes that window the ocean.  
  
Not to mention the smile that bordered on blinding, which Zoro knew was hidden beneath dark circles and 5 o'clock shadow stubble.  
  
So he supposes Sanji isn’t half bad.  
  
He’s nice enough, too. Despite a foul mouth when he's not censoring it for women, and a rather stubborn nature, he's helpful and considerate. Almost too nice to women. He’d get walked all over if the wrong one came along.  
  
And besides, Zoro’s never been picky over who Perona dates or fools around with. Sure, he’s protective, but it’s her business. He’d only step in if she asked him to.  
  
So really, it shouldn’t bother him that she’s choosing to flirt with Sanji.  
  
_It shouldn’t bother him.  
_  
  
—  
  
  
Sanji’s not exactly accustomed to seeing a smile on Zoro’s face after his routine, but right now his expression is brooding like a storm, darker and more drawn than usual. He’s shrugging on his leather jacket as he walks toward the bar.  
  
Perona’s wide eyed attention is swayed from Sanji to Zoro, and her thin brows bow curve upward when she takes him in.  
  
“I’m tired as hell, are you ready to go home?”  
  
Perona’s eyes appraise him for a second, and then she gives a nod, a small smile on her lips. “Sure. Awake enough to drive?”  
  
“Yeah.” Zoro’s eyes are on his pocket, hand digging for his keys.  
  
Sanji watches Perona watching Zoro.  
  
He always feels like he’s missing half the conversation when Perona and Zoro speak, or rather, when they don’t speak. So many things are said without words, Sanji is sure. And he doesn’t know what they’re saying, he doesn’t speak that language. It’s between them only.  
  
He wonders if it’s a couple thing, but he’s known plenty of couples who couldn’t do it, and plenty of best friends who could.  
  
He wonders what it’s like to be that close with someone.  
  
He wonders if Perona can read Zoro’s every minute gesture like a book.  
  
_I should stop trying to translate a language I will never need to speak_.  
  
Perona hops from her seat and Sanji pointedly does not look at the way her chest bounces. He returns his gaze when she smooths down her skirt, and her smile has widened.  
  
“I’ll see you later then, Sanji.” Her voice is sweet as honey. “Thank you for keeping me company!”  
  
“It was my pleasure,” he assures her, returning a wide smile. “Have a safe drive home.”  
  
“I’m sure we will!” With a final wave to him, Perona takes Zoro’s arm in her other hand, and begins to guide him toward the Crew Only door out toward the back carpark.  
  
Sanji’s attention is then directed to the gaggle of partygoers clamouring for drinks at the end of the bar. His brain slides into service mode, and his body moves on its own. The set up of the Merry’s bar is so familiar to him now that he’s sure he could mix drinks here in his sleep.  
  
His night continues in this zombified fashion. The bright eyes of girls don’t ensnare his gaze, the bodies lithe before him seem of little importance. Brook’s music sounds far away, but Sanji’s easily able to focus on it. He’s bone tired, but at least the red wash of the Merry soothes him. He likes having something to do with his hands, though he’d like a cigarette between his lips as well.  
  
The spaces of the club empty out gradually, and then Sanji’s cleaning the remainder of the glasses as he watches an apologetic Usopp usher out stragglers, and a firmer Franky aid him.  
  
He makes his way down the hall, and pokes his head into the little office where Nami is bent over some accounting books.  
  
“‘Gonna smoke, I’ll be back.”  
  
She nods, a tangerine strand of hair falling over her face, not looking up from the digits she’s scribbling on the paper.  
  
“‘Kay.”  
  
His breath comes out in nicotine clouds.  
  
He grinds the butt of his cigarette into the tarmac, and then rubs his face a little, before pushing back inside. The fluorescent light of the hallway is a little too bright.  
  
When he walks back into the Merry's front space, the crew are crowded around the bar, perched on stools, slumped over the counter, or leaning against a surface. It appears that Usopp and Ace have drawn tonight’s short straws for cleaning.  
  
“You left me out of the draw?”  
  
Nami shrugs. “You seemed tired. I don’t want a sloppy job done.” She winks at him. Despite her efforts, it does not escape his attention that she's trying to cover the fact she's doing him a favour.  
  
“Really, mellorine, you mustn't worry about me! I’m fine.”  
  
The bridge of her button nose wrinkles a little, a skeptical expression painting her face.  
  
Sanji leans his elbows on the bar and tries to look as awake as he can.  
  
Nami sits back a little. “By the way, Zoro looked a little sour when he and Perona left earlier, right after his routine. Did you guys notice anything?”  
  
A small frown graces Ace's face and he speaks around a toothpick he's worrying in his mouth. “He seemed a little out of it in our routine, but… I’m not sure why. It was nothing big, either.”  
  
Various shrugs come from the other boys, and Robin purses her lips, eyes sliding to Sanji.  
  
Sanji’s doesn’t see this. He’s fiddling with his packet of cigarettes, counting how many he has left.  
  
“He was probably just distracted by Perona.”  
  
Nami’s eyes widen a little. “Oh?”  
  
Usopp has a smirk on his lips. “That’s true. She was hitting on Sanji all night.”  
  
Sanji feels his face flush to the brim. “That's not—she wasn’t! I think I would have—have noticed if she was!”  
  
There are some sly smiles and giggles from the group. Nami looks particularly amused.  
  
Sanji is mortified.  
  
“And I was in no way flirting back, even if she was! I was just being friendly and polite, like ladies deserve—I’m not—I wouldn’t—she’s Zoro’s girlfriend!”  
  
_Wait—was that why Zoro had seemed pissed?  
_  
_Fuck, what have I done?  
_  
The room is stone silent.  
  
Every pair of eyes is trained on him. Breath is caged in lungs.  
  
He feels he might explode.  
  
_What was it I said? Why are they staring at me like that?  
_  
The space erupts into laughter and Sanji nearly jumps into the air.  
  
_“_ What— _What?!”  
_  
His questions are unanswered as people gasp for breath. Usopp is doubled over the table, Robin at least has the decency to put on sympathetic smile, and Franky is just shaking his head a little, chuckling.  
  
“You thought Perona.... was Zoro’s girlfriend?” Nami’s breathless still, but she does her best to execute words. “Zoro…. a girlfriend. Roronoa Zoro… attracted… to a _woman._ Oh man… oh, Sanji, I’m sorry, it _shouldn’t_ be this funny, but—” a giggle cuts off her sentence. “But Zoro... is… so very _not interested_ in women.”  
  
A lump forms in his throat.  
  
“He—” Sanji swallows. “He’s gay?”  
  
Nami nods.  
  
“Perona’s not... his girlfriend?”  
  
“Definitely not.”  
  
Despite the indignation boiling in him from being laughed at, another feeling is dawning on him, like cool water in veins and honey in his mouth.  
  
_She’s not his girlfriend. He doesn’t have a girlfriend._ _  
_  
He lets out a shaky laugh. It is sort of funny, after all, how oblivious he’d been.  
  
“Wow, I, uh, really misinterpreted that, didn’t I?”  
  
“Perhaps a little,” Robin comments.  
  
Sanji feels quite a lot lighter all of a sudden.  
  
  
—  
  
  
"You know, I changed my mind." Perona takes a sip of her tea.  
  
Zoro's eyes stay fixed on the TV, his finger rubbing the condensation from his beer bottle absently.   
  
"Mm?" He grunts.  
  
She smirks, and then clears it from her face, flicking her hair over her shoulder and keeping her face neutral.  
  
"He's not my type after all, you were right."  
  
Zoro grunts again, and takes a sip of his beer.  
  
_How cute, marimo. Pretending like it doesn't matter to you after you stormed home with me like this._  
  
Perona hides her smile behind another sip of tea.


	13. The Shallows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowo i'm a week late, meaning it's been three weeks since the last update (XoX)  
> thank u all for ur lovely comments, they mean so much to me!! and thank you for your patience.  
> this chapter isn't the most exciting, but the next two are sure to be ;- ) enjoy it anyway!!

“Thank you, buttercup.” Sanji offers the woman behind the accounts counter a syrupy smile as he accepts the receipt.

She leans forward a little and narrows her eyes behind square rim glasses, dead straight sheet of silken blonde hair pouring over her shoulders.

“I _will_ report you for sexual harassment.”

Sanji thinks he can feel himself paling a few shades. _But god, is she gorgeous._

“I—pardon?”

She sniffs and leans back, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Just go. Enjoy your gym membership, and remember you’ll need to renew it again in three months through the accounts here.”

“Uh. Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Sanji leaves the accounts office thoroughly at a loss and rather dismayed. He’s still frowning desolately at his shoes as he finds his way into the cafeteria. The whole place reeks of caffeine, but it still feels warm and clean. Looking around, he spots Usopp sitting on one of the couches around a circular coffee table.

Usopp gives him a wave.

When Sanji reaches him, he drops his messenger bag at his feet and flops onto the couch.

Usopp gives him a dubious once over.

“Everything alright?”

“I just got back from the accounts office—”

“ _Ohhh._ ”

“...Oh?”

“You met Kalifa, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Usopp nods a little too knowingly for Sanji’s taste.

“I should’ve warned you about her, knowing how you are.”

Sanji splutters a little. “Knowing—knowing how _I_ am?”

Twirling the pencil in his hand, Usopp gives him an assessing squint.

“You know, how you’re… I guess I wouldn’t say _flirtatious_ —but maybe I would—” Usopp shrinks a little as he continues under Sanji’s gaze, “you’re _chivalrous_ , should we say. Kalifa’s a little, um, sensitive. Just avoid anything that could be seen as perverted or sexist.”

“I am never either of those things!”

Usopp gives him a withering look. It wounds Sanji a little.

“Maybe I could improve on certain things,” he mumbles.

Usopp’s already looking down at his sketchpad.

“So, what were you at accounts for? And how had you not met Kalifa yet—I was terrified when I had to go through her to pay my entry fees.”

“I paid all my fees online. And, I was getting a gym subscription… I don’t suppose you go to the school’s gym?”

He’s offered a sheepish smile by Usopp. “Nah, I don’t really find time to gym. I should, but there always seems to be something better to do.”

“Makes sense. If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m gonna grab a coffee.”

Sanji soon returns to their little table with a hot cup in hand. Usopp’s bent over his pad again, sketching away. They sit in a comfortable silence while Sanji stirs his coffee.

The first sip is gratifyingly strong and sweet.

“So, how long have you known Perona?”

Usopp looks up at him over his glasses, brows raising.

“Perona? I guess… almost as long as I’ve known Zoro? About a year now.”

“Hm.” Sanji rubs his thumb over the plastic curve of the cup’s lip. “I know you might not be the person to ask, but what’s the story behind Zoro and Perona? They seem really close, but also... really different. I wouldn’t have picked that two people who seem so different could get along.”

Usopp smiles a little. “They’ve got a lot more in common than you’d think.”

“Oh?”

Brown eyes flit elsewhere and Usopp tugs a little at his bottom lip.

“I’m not the best person to explain it. I’m not… _super_ close with Zoro, and definitely not with Perona, and while I could tell you, it’s also kinda… personal stuff, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sanji offers him a smile. “It’s cool, I was just curious.”

 

—

 

Zoro’s hair is outlined with a valentine red glow.

Sanji tries to look anywhere but his face; his hands, maybe, one in a pocket and the other curled around a whiskey. His feet, in black combat-type boots. The three gold chime earrings dangling from his left ear.

Sanji is saved by Nami speaking up, and he pours his attention onto her.

“Well!” Nami claps her hands together. “Now that we have Mozu as another bartender, and Dalton is going to be one of our bouncers,” she smiles at the hulking man, who smiles back, “none of us have to work seven nights a week! Yay!”

A round of cheers follows her statement and the Merry’s group of staff raise their drinks. Franky and Chopper have cola, and the light shines through Sanji’s tumbler of gin when he lifts it.

“Wait, wait!” Nami’s smile is still bright. “Before we toast—I’d like to say thank you to everyone for the hard work you all put into Burlesque Week, it was a huge success!”

“Nami, sweetheart, you did most of the organizing and planning, we should be thanking you.” Vivi smiles sweetly at her girlfriend.

Nami shrugs and grins wider. “Well, true. But we all made it happen. _And_ the Merry’s popularity and profits have really upped it as of late. OK—and if you’ll wait one more second—Luffy, I can see you lowering that drink to your mouth, so stop it—I’d like to say that it was great seeing you, Perona, and you should come visit again when you can.”

"Aw, thank you. I'll try my best."

_“Cheers!”_

It gets rather noisy then, and Sanji shouts his own cheers, before bringing his drink to his lips. It stings down his throat and he feels the heat move through him instantly.

Brook’s already started up on the piano again, his tune jaunty and paced with the jazz track playing through the speakers. It’s past midnight and the Merry’s been emptied of customers, but he figures their own little celebration will continue on for a while.

Dalton’s at Brook’s side, though Sanji has no hope of hearing what they’re saying, and no particular interest, either. Ace has stolen Vivi onto the stage, where they’re laughing as they reenact their dance once more. Nami rolls her eyes before dragging Luffy onto the dancefloor to join Usopp and Chopper.

Sanji scoots out from behind the bar and drops himself on one of the barstools.

Perona’s whispering something to Zoro, so Sanji averts his gaze from them, only to notice Robin leaning up to whisper something to Franky in the shadowed corner by the stage. Even from here he can see Franky flush a little, and he almost looks away, but then Robin takes Franky’s hand and leads him to the dancefloor. Sanji doesn’t bother hiding the smile that creeps onto his face. Nami and Vivi exchange a look from across the space, and then Nami looks over to Sanji, raising her brows. He returns her smile by widening his.

A squeak of a stool pulls his attention back, and he sees Zoro leaving the bar. Perona pokes her tongue out after his receding back.

She then notices Sanji watching.

“Sanji!”

Perona hops one stool over to be next to him.

“Listen, before the marimo gets back from wherever he went—to piss or something—”

Sanji pretends he did not hear such a word come from the delicate lips of a sweet lady like Perona.

“The... what? You mean Zoro?”

“Oh, right.” Perona giggles a little and blinks heavy eyelashes. “You haven’t heard that yet huh? Marimo are these algae balls that are native to Japan. I call Zoro that because his head looks like a marimo.” She snorts—another sound, although sort of cute and high pitched, Sanji chooses not to have heard. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. You’re in a lot of his classes, yeah?”

“That’s right.”

“Look—don’t tell him I told you this—but he’s really stubborn and also he hates asking for help so—maybe if you see him... having trouble… you could help him out?”

“Of course, Perona my dear.”

Despite his ready agreement, uncertainty tugs at Sanji. _Zoro isn’t the kind of guy who seems like he wants to be coddled. Would it offend him? What would he need help with, anyway?_

“Be subtle about it, too.” Perona’s dark eyes bore into his, as if she can read the concerns on his face.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Sanji!” Perona is abruptly bubbly again, hand patting his shoulder.

“It’s no problem at all, mellorine!”

“What are you two talking about?”

Zoro peers suspiciously at them as he leans on the counter behind Perona.

“Oh, nothing, _marimo,_ ” Sanji drawls.

“O-Oi!” Zoro’s jaw drops a little indignantly, ears pinking in embarrassment. He glares at Perona. “ _You_ taught him that.”

Perona just giggles behind her hand.

 

—

 

Zoro pulls the covers up over Chopper’s chin, and upon standing, checks that all Usopp’s limbs are inside the top bunk’s confines. Quietly, he backs out of their room and pulls the door closed.

He pads down the dimly lit hallway and into the lounge, where Perona is lying on the couch.

Her hair is a tousled mess, pink bubblegum exploding over the arm of the sofa, trailing down and pooling in the cracks of the pillows and the dips of her neck and stomach. He lifts her legs to flop down on one side of the couch, and she blinks a raccoon eye at him; the 2:00AM makeup smudge effect going strong.

“Shouldn’t you be in my bed?” He asks her.

She gives a little one shoulder shrug.

“Probably. I can move off the couch if you wanna sleep.”

He shrugs back.

“I don’t mind.”

Perona sits up, and then scoots down, swinging her legs around the other way, before resting her head on Zoro’s thigh. Her hair fans out over his lap and she closes her eyes, letting out a sigh.

“I’m not sure when I’ll have another break to come down.”

“We’ll find time. Not like I’m gonna desperately miss you or anything.”

“Feeling’s mutual, marimo.”

Zoro fiddles with the splayed ends of a lock of her hair.

“You’re gonna ask for help at Uni, right?”

Zoro says nothing.

“You can’t do it alone, Zoro.”

“I know.”

He lets the lock of hair he was toying with fall back down to curl on Perona’s bicep.

“And it’s okay if you can’t do it alone,” Perona mumbles into his leg. “People weren’t meant to be able to do everything by themselves.”

“I’ll get help, Perona.”

“Mmm, good.”

“You wanna go to sleep now?”

“Mmm.”

“Then get off.”

They brush their teeth side by side, and Zoro leans against the doorframe of the little bathroom while Perona goes through the tedious routine of wiping off her makeup. She then proceeds to wash her face with three different products. Zoro yawns widely.

“You know, Sanji always looks at you.”

“What?”

Perona squeezes some moisturiser out onto her palm. “When you’re not paying attention, he’s always glancing at you.”

“...And?”

“Just thought you should know.”

Zoro finds the shower curtain very interesting all of a sudden.

“Done.” She pokes him in the stomach while he’s not looking. “Why are you waiting, anyway?”

He shrugs.

“T’say goodnight.”

She gives him a smile, one that’s familiar, and he almost aches for a home like he’s never had. Perona is as close to that kind of home he’ll ever get.

“Goodnight, marimo.” She stretches up to plant a kiss on his cheek, hand steady on his shoulder, and then shuffles off toward his room.

He buries himself under two blankets on the couch.

He has a different home now: his home is Luffy’s grin, Nami’s wink, Usopp’s joke. More new is Chopper’s laughter.

He wonders if Sanji will become a part of his home, even if it’s in a small way, like Ace’s glass clinking against Zoro’s, or the way Vivi wishes him good luck before he goes on stage, every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its 1am i hope there aren't too many mistakes in this fsfgs


	14. Saturday Night Fever (Dream): Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOP it was 3 weeks again, but I am here to deliver with the exciting chapter(s) I promised. (Two parts for this one!) I've been trying to handle multiple projects, personal and school, so thank you for your patience!!!  
> also incase there is confusion about the last segment of this update, it is finally Saturday in the 'verse, and as Nami mentioned in chapter 12 there's a party tonight. (Though the chapter begins at the beginning of Saturday—the time will be mentioned in each segment.)

Luffy is bored.

He wishes he weren’t bored; but at four in the morning on a Saturday in an empty apartment, with caffeine jacking his brain, boredom consumes him. It’s not his fault that he drank twelve Red Bulls; he’d been thirsty and they were the only drink in sight. It was only _after_ chugging them all that he noticed they were energy drinks. And then to balance it out, he’d eaten food, but he didn’t want to set the apartment on fire by cooking anything, and there were no leftovers to reheat. (Leftovers didn't exist in this house.) Instead, he'd eaten a box of cereal, two packets of chocolate chip cookies, and a packet of tortillas, which he dipped in sweet chilli sauce—not something he’d recommend, but interesting.

Apparently, they’ve forgotten to pay the cable bill, and there’s nothing good on free tv. He’s watched all their rented movies, and everyone is asleep, and he doesn’t have his bike to get anywhere, and Ace isn’t here, and he’s _bored._

Naturally, when his phone vibrates heavily on the sliver of available coffee table, Luffy leaps three feet in an instant to snatch it up. This movement concludes in a barrel roll onto the couch.

It’s from Ace.  
  


[ _you’re never gonna guess who just got in touch with me with some awesome news! which you also could never guess, btw_ 4:15AM ]  
  


Luffy’s moments from sending a ‘ _Who!!!!’_ text before he realises he can just call Ace, which will be much faster. He prefers calling people. Eagerly, he presses the phone to the side of his face and listens to the dial tone bubble. It’s cut off a moment later in a click.

“Ace!”

“Yo, Luffy. Should’ve known you’d call me,” Ace grumbles, fondness in his voice betraying him.

“So, who is it? What’s up?” Luffy spots an open bag of potato chips and dives his hand in only to find it empty. _Curses._

“You know Law?”

“Whaddaya mean _do I know Law_? Of course I know Law! We were like, best friends in middle school. And high school!”

Ace’s laughter crackles through the phone. “That was more of a rhetorical question. And also, he refused to admit you two were friends through all of middle school, remember? Anyway, he texts me now and then—”

“What! He never texts  _me!_ ”

“That’s because you lose your phone or break it and have to get a new sim practically monthly. Also, you suck at texting. I’ve seen texts between you two before. It looks like a ten year old trying to communicate with a robot.”

“I do not text like a ten year old! You’re so _meeean,_ Ace,” Luffy whines. _And he’s had this phone for over three months now!_

“I am just being honest, like all good big brothers should be.”

Luffy only grins, forgetting Ace can’t see him do it. He’s not bothered anyway, his body is fluttering with excitement—actually, maybe that’s the caffeine—but all he wants to know is what Law told Ace that’s so interesting.

“So, what’s the news that I’ll never guess?”

 

—

 

“Zoro! Move!”

Perona stands with her hands on her hips by the open passenger door of Usopp’s truck. The poor thing’s engine is already coughing, and the whole frame vibrates with the thrum of it. One of Zoro’s legs dangles from the open door as he slouches in the front seat.

“What? Why do I have to move?”

“Because the back is full with all my stuff!”

“So?”

“I don’t want to sit cramped in the back!”

“It’s _your_ stuff! Just sit there! You’re smaller than me anyway—”

Perona gives him a particularly distasteful pout, and crosses her arms over her chest. _Shit._

“I’m not sitting back there. Move.”

As much as Zoro doesn’t want to give in to Perona being an annoying brat—which is very much—he also doesn’t want to listen to a whining Perona all the way to the transport centre. Which will surely be the outcome if he doesn’t give it up. He resigns himself to discomfort, and hops out of the front seat, flourishing his hand in mockery.

“Your throne, bratty princess.”

Perona climbs up and flounces down, coral skirt fluttering.

“Thank you, disloyal subject.”

“Suck a dick, ‘rona.”

She pokes her tongue out at him. “No, you.”

“You two are so immature around each other.” Usopp grins as checks over his shoulder, and begins to back out of the narrow drive.

“She’s always immature.”

“Am not.”

Zoro clenches his jaw and stops himself from saying _‘are too,’_ like he would’ve when they were thirteen.

The days are getting warmer, and the black interior of the truck absorbs the sun like a magnet. With the aircon long dead, the heat radiates from every surface. Zoro tugs his tee from his chest where it’s starting to stick.

It’s hit midday now, and the colours of the streets are warm. A humid breeze peels through the truck when Zoro cranks the window down, and they’re soon twisting out of the suburbs and into the busier streets of the city centre. Saturday shoppers laden with bags line the streets and shop window panels reflect everything in tinted pictures. The noise and chatter is actually quite pleasant. They pass a Starbucks and Zoro muses vaguely than an iced coffee would be nice; chilled and bitter. Perona would want hers disgustingly sweet and with chocolate, of course.

He can’t see Perona’s face. Her hair is fishtail braided down her back, and the pale skin of her shoulders is exposed by a rough cut crop top. It was probably once black, but has since faded to a dark, almost gray shade.

They get stuck in traffic a couple times, but they’re soon pulling up to the carpark beside the bus terminal.

Perona is peppy when she thanks Usopp for getting them here on time, and Zoro shoots her a dirty look. He and Usopp proceed to unload the repertoire of luggage from the back seat.

“My bus should be here in five minutes,” Perona announces. “I’m going to buy bottled water.”

Zoro watches her disappear into the transport centre’s building.

“Gonna miss her, huh?”

Zoro’s eyes snap around to Usopp, who’s leaning a sunkissed shoulder against the truck and sporting a lopsided grin. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his overalls.

“What? No way.”

Usopp just snorts.

Zoro doesn’t like the knowing look in Usopp’s eyes, so he looks away, pretending to scan down the line of buses.

Perona comes back out with her bottle just as a large Intercity bus pulls up to the curb.

“That’s mine.”

Zoro keeps his arms crossed over his chest as they wait by the truck, watching the current passengers disembark and pull out luggage from the storage compartment, panel of the bus open like a mechanical mouth. When the waiting crowd begins to board, Perona suggests they take her suitcases over, and so they do. Zoro doesn’t even complain as he does so.

After a struggle of some five minutes, all of Perona’s cases are pink tagged and stacked in a corner of the hold, and Zoro himself is back by her side. The beeline of people to board the bus is rapidly shrinking as ticket codes are confirmed on the screens of mobiles or printed papers.

“It was nice seeing you, Perona,” Usopp smiles at her, and Perona says something rather sweet and chatty back, but Zoro isn’t listening closely anymore.

All he catches is their waves, and Usopp gives him a look and a thumb jerk to signal he’s going back to the truck. Perona turns to him, that hard expression set on her face. He can feel the absence of his own expression, and wonders why he can’t find any words.

He doesn’t need to, because the next moment, Perona is pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap easily around her and she squeezes him tight, quickly, and her hair is silky where her crown tucks under his chin.

“You should text me when you can,” Perona commands in a taciturn tone, pulling back. “Or call me. Or I’ll call you.”

“I’ll try,” Zoro offers, knowing he’ll forget half the time.

She narrows her eyes.

“I’ll call if I need you, alright?”

Perona levels her gaze with his. “Zoro, you always need me.”

He only snorts, letting that one slide.

“You know what I mean.”

This seems to appease Perona. She presses a kiss to his cheek, and pats his shoulder.

“Later, marimo.”

He watches her bounce onto the bus, braid waving. Cool air from the air conditioned interior seeps out. She holds her phone up to the woman who’s checking the codes, and Zoro turns his back, heading for the truck.

“You wanna wait to wave goodbye?” Usopp asks him.

“Nah,” Zoro grins. “Let’s go home.”

 

**—**

 

“Do I look okay?”

Vivi stands in the doorway of their bedroom, sweet smile softening her lips. Her hair is half down, the top half twisted to a flowery knot behind her head, the bottom a crimped and curled waterfall. A maxi dress emphasises her tall, slender form, and a gold necklace shines against her dark skin. She wears strap sandals, and a light denim jacket which cuts off at her ribs.

“You look adorable,” Nami smiles. She herself is wearing washed jeans, a tank top, and a hoodie with the front zipped open. Her wrists chime with gold bracelets and her nails shine neon orange. “Ready to go?”

Vivi nods, and so they squeeze into the lounge. Vivi picks her keys up on the way, and Nami pats her jacket pocket to check that her phone is safely there. She ignores the mess of the apartment, as they always do—they’re both too busy to do much about it. Vivi at least keeps the kitchen clean and organised. The place has all of two windows, is strewn with clothing, and the linoleum in the kitchen is peeling—but it’s theirs. It has room for one to stand in the kitchen while the other cooks, it has a bed for them to share, and a couch where they can wrap up and be warm. They can make cocoa when they want and stay up watching cartoons as long as they want, and that’s the be-all end-all. (Though Nami is always talking about the fancy house they’re going to own someday.)

Vivi locks the door behind them carefully and they make their way to the stairwell.

The Audi on the curb chirps when Vivi unlocks it and they pile in, Vivi in the driver’s seat, designated for the night. Sunlight has melted down the horizon to leave a blank black starless sky, and the blue digits of the car’s clock blink the time as ten past nine.

“You texted the guys the address, right?”

“Yeah,” Vivi nods as she pulls out onto the street. “I gave Usopp the address.”

Nami leans against the window, her breath fogging the glass and her finger squiggling it away a moment later.

“Whose party is this again?”

Vivi laughs. “Kohza’s.”

“Right, right. You two went to middle school together?”

“Yep! Isn’t it funny that we both ended up in Grandline?”

“It is, though I’m kinda getting used to it. A lot of people end up here, biggest city an’ all. They say the population’s growing above and beyond exponentially. Say,” Nami grins. “Is the house nice? You said his dad was in politics.”

“His dad’s part of the Ministry of Environment. Nothing that extreme—though I’m pretty sure the place is nice. Big, too.”

“Guessing his dad’s out of town?”

“Yeah, he’s away a lot, apparently.”

Nami slips a foxy grin. “Bet the party’s gonna be huge.”

“Large parties are not my thing,” Vivi sighs. “I prefer smaller ones.”

Nami hums with assent. “That’s because you momfriend everyone. Big parties have their own brand of fun.”

“Oh, hush,” Vivi scolds, but then the two just laugh. “Someone needs to worry for you lot.”

“Well, I keep the boys in line, don’t I?”

“And what about yourself?”

“Me?” Nami blinks innocent eyes at Vivi, which the other girl can’t see, but she can feel it happening and she’s not buying into it.

“Nami, I’ve had to stop you from stealing jewelry from people’s houses at least four times.”

“Those were rich people’s houses, they had so much, they never would’ve noticed.”

Vivi shoots her girlfriend a stern look which has no effect whatsoever.

“Alright, then, what about the time I had to stop you from having a drinking competition with that Russian exchange student who was three times your size?”

“Coulda taken him,” Nami states. “I would’ve made so much money off of that bet.”

“And I would’ve had to use it all to pay the hospital bills for your _alcohol poisoning._ ”

Nami is about to protest, but she’s distracted by the street they turn down. The neighbourhood they departed from had melded into something tame and suburban, and now they’re driving uphill, the houses grander and more secure. They have high fences, two stories—maybe three—and probably large gardens at the back, pools and patios to match. Her eyes are drawn to a sandstone house with large pillars and a two story window set into its face.

 _Damn, these places are nice._ She wonders how much they’re worth on average.

“Are we here?”

“Almost,” Vivi squints. “Up there, I think, on the left.”

Nami peers out the windscreen, gazing to the top of the hill where the curve bells out.

There are cars in _abundance_ lining the street, cars of all shapes and sizes, but rarely the expensive kind, and clearly not belonging to anyone living here—anyone with a garage. She thinks she can make out figures traipsing up the sidewalk further up, a few groups of people, lagging and laughing in the way that college kids so often are.

“Phew, ” Nami breathes. “It _is_ gonna be big.”

Slowing as they reach the lines of cars, Nami carefully keeps her eyes open for the beaten truck which she'll recognise right away, while Vivi scans for somewhere to park.

They end up parked on the grass, but at this point there's so many cars, no one would single them out for dodgy placement. Nami's about to call Usopp, when Vivi exclaims beside her.

"There they are! I see them!"

Nami looks up from her phone screen, and squints off into the dark.

Her eyes land on Luffy first, bouncing on his heels a little, strawhat standing out like a sore thumb. Ace and Sanji appear to be in conversation while Usopp locks the truck, and she can just make out Zoro leaning against its side, half obscured by a figure who stands beside Luffy, quite still in comparison.

"Wait—who—?"

Nami concedes to Vivi's sentence. Everything is too dim to recognise the figure properly, but if she were to guess—

"Is that," Nami asks, tone disbelieving, " _Law?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luffy is that friend who u text and they call u back mnmsfds
> 
> if there are late updates do not panic, i'm busy but i'm doin my best :') thank you for your feedback and comments as always!! <3


	15. Saturday Night Fever (Dream): Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S PART TWO and holy—it hit 3.5k and I realised that this is gonna need three parts. A lot of things are goin on and more are still comin, but I didn't want to make it too long since most chapters are around 2.5k to 3k words, which is a nice length imo (y) doesn't take too long to read but is enough to make developments. enjoy !!

Sanji’s been to parties before, sure. Highschool parties. The largest one he went to had about seventy people—and past five cups of whiskey and cola, he couldn’t honestly say he remembered much about it. The house had been dim, and the music loud.

This party is on a whole other level.

He and the rest of the group make their way past cars lined up like tin toys against the curb. Nami, Vivi and Usopp are in conversation behind him, and Luffy is talking animatedly to Zoro in front of him. Sanji definitely overhears the words ‘meat’ and ‘booze.’

Ace is smiling as he speaks to the one Sanji hadn’t met before, Law. 

He’s not sure what to make of Law. Though it was not to be admitted to anyone else, the first thing Sanji noticed about him was that he was attractive: lanky, tall, dark hair and dark eyes with thick downcast eyelashes. Particularly diverting lips, especially when he spoke. And then there was the _tattoos,_ which had Sanji wondering if he might be part of some gang. Luffy had introduced them only as they piled into Usopp’s truck, and so Sanji had just been given the explanation _“This is my friend, Law!”_ and not much else. He was getting used to that.

Law is watching the footpath, but giving responses to Ace now and then, which Sanji can’t hear.

There isn’t much front garden to the place. They squeeze through the gate and pool at the doorstep, and an enthusiastic knock from Luffy results in the door being swung open for them by a guy who seems to recognise Vivi and Ace, and smiles at them.

The inside is about what Sanji expected, from what he can see. An entry with a tall ceiling, clean matte walls with large paintings, and a glass table with a bowl of keys and a candelabra. It smells of apple cinnamon faintly, the fake kind, and the notion that dust could exist on any surface is laughable. From the entry hall, two open arches lead away, one wood panelled door is sealed—a closet, maybe, for coats—and a large staircase twists upstairs. The second floor is dark and quiet, but the floor they have entered is quite the opposite.

It’s brightest here, and while it’s dimmer toward each room, the noise of the party emanates from there. A bass speaker hums, and already the sounds of shrieks and laughter and general _partying_ travel to their ears. Vivi asks the guy by the door where she might find Kohza, he points them down to the left end of the house, and by the time they’re out of the doorway another group has come up behind them.

It starts out like most other parties.

Their group sticks together about as far as the crowd—dense already, cups in hand, milling and laughing, they squeeze through them—and then they start to split up.

A roar from the group by the first set of couches nearly startles Sanji, and then Ace is yelling _“MARCOOO!”_ and he’s being engulfed by a bunch of guys, none of whom Sanji recognises. Nami and Vivi have squeezed past the kitchen counter where people are filling plastic cups from a keg—one guy behind the counter is blending something that Sanji finds questionable—and disappeared already, and Usopp’s eyes are frantically trying to keep track of both Luffy and Zoro at once.

This proves to be futile, because while Usopp dissuades Luffy from raiding the pantry (a walk-in one, at that) Zoro manages to nab a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and successfully pours a third of it into a tall, clear plastic cup. Sanji moves himself toward the stack of cups, maneuvering the gaggle of people.

As Sanji twists the keg’s plastic tap and lets his cup fill, he becomes aware that Law is by him. He’s been silent enough for a while that Sanji had forgotten he was there. He slides his eyes over to the man, taking him in.

Law’s leaned against the counter, watching Luffy and Usopp argue over the food, which Luffy is claiming he will ‘borrow.’ His eyes look tired, blue veined backed lids and dark circles, and then darker irises slide around to fix on Sanji.

Sanji twists the keg closed and takes a hurried sip of his drink. _So he noticed me staring, then._

He is distracted from the taste of the frankly _crap_ wine—dry, white and cheap—by Law speaking up.

“Sanji, is it?” Law leans further back on the counter with his elbows, flattening himself against the side to let two girls past. Sanji’s eyes track them for a second, swishes of silky hair and perfumed skin, before he snaps his gaze back.

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself before. I work at the Merry?” _Wait. Does he know about the Merry?_

Law’s eyebrows shoot up, and this leads Sanji to the conclusion that _yes,_ he _does_ know about the Merry, and that is when he realises his mistake.

“As a bartender! I work as a bartender.”

There’s something slightly unsettling about the smirk that pulls up the corner of Law’s lips as he smiles.

“I wasn’t going to ask if you were a stripper, you know.”

Sanji coughs. “But. Just to clarify.”

Law gives a nod, that smile still present.

After a beat of silence between them (though certainly not the room) that threatens to get awkward, Sanji remembers himself. “Would you like a drink?”

“You think they have anything worth drinking?” Law muses, eyeing Sanji’s cup. “I’m not really a fan of wine.”

Sanji hums, glancing around the kitchen. Instead of locating suitable alcohol, he’s immediately distracted by the lack of Zoro, Luffy and Usopp.

“Where—”

“I believe Luffy and Usopp dragged each other off to find the host. To ask if any food was available,” Law adds as an afterthought.

“And Zoro?”

“No idea.”

“Great,” Sanji mutters. He spots an opened twenty-four pack of beer on the floor behind the counter island. “Beer?”

Law’s eyes follow his point and fall to the box.

“Drinkable—”

“GUYS!”

Sanji nearly chokes on a sip of his wine as one of Ace’s hands slaps his back. Law somehow avoids the impact, uncannily sidestepping Ace’s palm.

Ace grins, wide and sweet, like he does best. “We’re doing warmup shots, you should come on over!”

Sanji supposes one shot couldn’t hurt.

 

—

 

Zoro isn’t lost.

He’s just uncertain as to where he is, in relation to the house.

After finding some quite quality whiskey—Glenfiddich, single malt—he’d intended to go and find Luffy, who had disappeared with Usopp. Luffy snowballed attention at parties like nobody’s business. He always ended up surrounded by food, more often than not got tied up in a full scale drinking (or otherwise competitive) game, and generally attracted the largest crowd. This was usually worth being around, even if Zoro just sat on a couch and watched most times.

Possibly the house had moved around, though, because he couldn’t see anyone or anything familiar. It didn’t feel like he was getting closer, either. After he’d left the kitchen, he’d gone through two lounges. Speakers were blasting music in both, and the rooms were too dark for his liking. He’d pushed past a couple making out against the wall into what looked like a traditional billiard room, where half the people were, in fact, playing pool on the billiards table, whilst the other half watched, drank, or did both.

He’d then passed a bathroom where someone was crying, her friend desperately trying to comfort her, so he’d slipped away and tried to double back. Somehow, he ended up _upstairs,_ where everything was dark.

A glance at his cup reassures him he’s got half his drink left, and he can still hear the party downstairs, so there’s nothing to worry about. He looks for the staircase they saw at the entrance as he meanders on down the hall.

There’s a side table against the wall with a picture on it, a tanned boy with blonde hair smiling, a man by him with a hand on his shoulder. Father and son. They look like they’re standing in a desert. Zoro takes a sip of his drink and wanders on.

 

—

 

Sanji smacks his fourth shot down on the table to giddy cheers. As he leans back against the couch with a wild grin, he hears Law’s glass hit the tabletop too.

“Another?” The girl who’s holding the bottle of tequila smiles at him, and he wants to say _yes,_ yes a million times, because she’s gorgeous, but beside him Law holds a hand up, which causes him to pause.

“I’m good for now,” Law says, and Sanji’s eyes follow the tattoos over his fingers as his hand falls back to rest on his thigh.

Sanji wants to ask her to stay, but he doesn’t manage to get it out, because Ace is waving him over and people are suddenly streaming out of the room.

“What’s up?” Sanji says, pushing himself to Ace’s side. It felt like he'd gotten there awfully quick and his sudden movement makes the world tilt a little, like a ship deck.

“They’ve set up a beer pong competition in the garage. You game?”

Sanji shrugs. “I’ll watch.”

“Watch and learn,” Ace winks as him, and then his friend with the fluffy blonde quiff—Marco—has a hand on Ace’s shoulder, and the stripper is dragged off ahead of them.

Law is at Sanji’s side once again, hands in his jeans. They follow the stream of people out. Sanji feels quite warm, like a blanket’s been put over him and fire’s been trickled down his throat. The floaty feeling is pleasant and familiar.

“So, how long have you known Ace and Luffy?”

Law blinks. “Since middle school.”

“Shit, really?” Sanji grins, and jerks his head to Ace, tousled hair just visible up ahead. “Was he always that much of a flirt?”

“Nope.”

Sanji makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. “It seems so natural, too.”

“He was the opposite of charming, actually. Never quit being a troublemaker, but some time after freshman year, he discovered manners and it was uphill from there. Probably because of—”

He turns to look at Law, who isn’t looking anywhere in particular, poker face only interrupted by the slight frown of his brows.

“Of?”

Law shakes his head. “Nevermind, not that important.”

“ _TRAFA_ —TRAF—LAW!”

The distinct shout reaches Sanji’s ears and he feels Law tense up beside him, their heads turn in unison, and Sanji spots Luffy, one arm curled around Dorito and beef jerky packets, the other waving excitedly at them. His smile is wide and toothy.

He also appears a little out of focus, but then Sanji notices the rest of the room is like that too, so it must be him.

“Sanji, too!” Luffy skips over to them through the crowd, and Usopp comes into view behind him.

Luffy magnetises to Law’s side and starts chatting away, and Usopp slides in beside Sanji as they pass through a single door and down a few steps.

Usopp frowns. “Where’s Zoro?”

“I thought he might be with you… he disappeared when we were getting drinks.”

“Ah, crap.” Usopp looks mildly guilty. “Nami’s gonna give us an earful.”

“What do you—why would Nami—”

Before Sanji can finish his sentence his eyes are drawn to a headful of orange hair and Nami herself comes into full view, and when she spots them she waves enthusiastically.

“Sanji, Usopp!” Her cheeks are rosy pink and she smells like peach schnapps. In the back of the room, Vivi also gives them a wave before returning her attention to the guy beside her, fond smile still in place.

In the corner of his vision, Sanji sees Law make his way over to Luffy, who has joined up with Ace, and lean himself against the wall. The garage is packed full of people, and there isn’t a car to be seen, only a wooden dining table where pyramids of cups are being filled. Nami stops in front of them, and squints.

“Wait.” She looks quite serious all of a sudden, her giddiness vaporised. “Where’s Zoro? _Usopp._ ”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Usopp raises his hands in front of himself as a shield. “I was watching Luffy!”

“Then who was watching Zoro _?_ ”

“I thought Sanji was!”

All of a sudden Sanji is swept into the mildly amusing exchange and it becomes rapidly less amusing as a sense of impending doom creeps up on him, driven solely by the force of nature that is Nami.

“Sanji, that’s party rule number two! How could you?”

“I’m so sorry Na—hang on. Rule number two?”

“The party rules!” Nami shakes her drink at him, nails orange against red plastic. “Shit, don’t tell me I forgot to tell you the party rules.”

Since she asked him not to, Sanji does not tell her.

Usopp does, though.

“We forgot to tell him the party rules.”

Nami sighs and holds a finger up, taking a sip of her drink. When she’s finished, she gives Sanji a stern look.

“Rule number two is never let Zoro out of your sights. At least one person must have tabs on Zoro, at any given time.”

“...I see.”

“This rule is rather important, because after we had to go get him from a _neighbour’s_ house for the third time in a sequence of parties, we realised that losing Zoro at a party is one of the most time consuming things, especially if there’s only one sober person and you all want to go home and crash. I’ve suggested we just leave him before, but Luffy’s not having that.”

Usopp mutters something that may or may not have been _‘You’re always worried too,’_ and Nami shoots him a look.

Sanji rubs his face. Things are a little fuzzy, but his logical thinking is still working fine, albeit with duress.

“Right, right. Why can’t we just call him?”

“You can try. He never hears his phone. Even if he does pick up, good luck getting any kind of substantial description of his whereabouts.”

Against better judgement—perhaps the logical side of his brain isn’t as in control as he’d like to think—he takes a sip of his forgotten drink.

“Would you be so kind as to fill me in on any other important rules?”

Usopp and Nami exchange a look.

“Rule number one,” Usopp says earnestly.

Nami nods. “Rule number one is similar to rule number two, but it’s for Luffy. It’s ‘never leave Luffy unattended.’ This is for the safety of any food in the vicinity not belonging to us, for his own safety and the preservation of his liver, and in rare cases the safety of everyone at the party and possibly the neighbourhood.”

“I don’t really want to ask.”

“The almost-fire of 2015,” Usopp says somberly.

“Rule number three: If Zoro gets into a drinking competition, notify me at once.”

“Okay, this time I _am_ asking. Why?”

Nami grins at him, sly and brilliant. “So that I can bet money on him. If Zoro loses a drinking competition, then pigs will fly.”

The room is getting all echoey and unstable, so Sanji vows to abandon his drink on the next available surface. He blinks and focuses on Nami.

“Any more rules?”

“Rules four to eight I’m too lazy to go into details of, but they can be summarised as _don’t do anything stupid_ and _make sure no one else does anything stupid._ ”

Sanji nods. “Straightforward.”

“All right!” A loud voice from the centre of the room commands their attention. A tall guy with a mohawk that trails into a braid is standing by the table, a curious green swirl of tribal tattoo on his left pec peeking from either side of a singlet shoulder. “Who’s gonna take on Laki and I?”

Sanji shifts his attention to girl beside him, and he thinks he might be in love.

Hair black as ink falls down to her hips. She’s almost as tall as the guy is, and a lilac crop top reveals a knockout body. If Sanji’s mouth weren’t so dry right now, he’d be drooling.

“We will!” Luffy’s hand shoots up and Ace grins, handing off his drink to one of his friends. Amusingly enough, Luffy carries his hoard of snacks with him to the beer pong table, protectively tucking them underneath before straightening. He rolls his shoulders a bit, and Nami snorts.

“Come on, let’s get closer.”

Ace is better at beer pong than Luffy, but they’re both pretty damn good. They have a wicked target-hit rate and ten turns in, the other team is down six cups. They give back pretty well, though, and Luffy and Ace have lost five cups themselves.

Luffy can chug beer like nobody’s business. Not far in they discover the cups are filled not only with beer, but some with Cointreau and others with Vodka, and Luffy can also drink those like they’re root beer or energy drinks: way too fast to be good for you.

Sanji ends up leaning against the wall by Law as he watches, back a little sore and glad of support. Usopp, Vivi, and Nami, who are just to their left, are cheering the boys on with vigour. The whole room erupts whenever the little plastic ball finds its way into a filled cup.

Luffy whoops in triumph as his throw pops the ball neatly into another cup, and Ace claps him on the back.

Sanji glances toward the doorway now and then.

 

—

 

Zoro finds the kitchen again, finally.

Unfortunately, it’s empty of any of his friends. On the whole, it’s rather more empty compared to how full it was when they got here—how long ago was it now?—and there’s only half a dozen small groups of people lying over the couches or sitting cross legged on the floor.

Fortunately, his cup is in dire need of a refill, so he makes use of the readily accessible whiskey again.

Refilled, he wanders off in the direction of the noise, only to find himself in the dark room crammed with bodies again. It smells like sweat and alcohol. He imagines that if he complained about that, Sanji would remind him  _'sweat and alcohol is_ _your natural aroma.’_ And then he wonders when he started imagining the bartender’s responses in his head like this, like it was a natural path in his brain.

He takes a few uncouth gulps of his drink and gives his head a little shake.

 

—

 

At first, Sanji thought he was imagining it, but now he’s sure.

Law watches Luffy when he thinks no one else is paying attention.

The corners of his lips do this fond, twitchy thing when Luffy laughs, and he’s clearly more absorbed in the actions of Sanji’s tempestuous boss than he is in the game of beer pong.

It’s when there’s just two cups left on either side, and Ace lands the little plastic ball into one of their opponent's and Luffy jumps on his brother, a battle cheer and laughter spilling from his mouth, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, that Law _smiles_ smiles. It suits him. So Sanji leans over, and asks.

“How long?”

The smile slowly disappears at first, and black eyes focus on him, Law’s facial expression smoothing out to something unreadable. He seems to consider Sanji for a moment, and then he raises his beer to his lips and takes a sip, breaking eye contact.

Sanji worries he’s overstepped boundaries for a moment, but Law turns back to look at him.

“You know what the first thing Luffy ever said to me was?”

“Uh, nope?”

“We were in our first year of middle school. First day, too. I introduce myself as Trafalgar Law, and he says, _‘Gesundheit.’”_ Law shakes his head ever so slightly, as if he still can't believe it. His voice turns dreamlike, tone traced with indignation and bafflement, and he mutters, “like he thought I’d sneezed.”

Sanji’s not sure if he should laugh.

Law takes another sip of his beer. Not a swig like Zoro, Sanji thinks, but a nicely controlled sip.

“I think it started then.”

“Jesus,” Sanji says. “You got it bad then, huh?”

Law says nothing, leaning back a little to press his shoulders flat against the wall. He eyes Sanji up with more concentration and composure than he should be capable of after having four shots. His voice is casual when he speaks.

“It’s no big deal. So, how long have you had a thing for Zoro?”

If Sanji hadn’t ditched his wine, he’d be choking on it right about now.

“Wh— _Zoro?_ _Me?_ Like _Zoro?_ I don’t—where would you get that idea—”

“You glance over to the door every minute, Sanji. And everyone else we know is here. I might have thought you were hopeful the girl who poured us shots would come in,” Law looks him up and down with another critical flick of his eyes, which Sanji isn’t a fan of, “except for she’s over there hitting on Usopp, and you haven’t even noticed. So I must conclude you’re hoping for Zoro.”

Sanji snaps his gaze around and the fast movement is a pretty bad idea for his head, but his eyes confirm the girl is, in fact, flirting with Usopp. _Damn._

He turns on Law again, only realising he’s chewing his own bottom lip when he releases it.

“I’m only looking out for him because the lovely Nami is worried about him. It was our job to make sure he didn’t wander off, and he did, and I’m hoping I don’t have to get my drunk ass up to go and find _his_ drunk ass before we can go home.”

“Right." Law smiles a shit-eating grin. "For Nami, of course.”

The worst part isn't Law's smugness. It's not even that Law isn't convinced.

It's that at this point, Sanji can't even convince himself.

He's more than a just a little screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had no idea gesundheit was spelt like that until today
> 
> so it's almost 1 am i hope there aren't many mistakes eugeugfeh
> 
> also I must say, after that end bit there, i don't have lawlu planned, and unrequited lawlu from law's side was my intention from the start... though the law and luffy dynamics may be ambiguous enough for it not to matter either way? i just feel like i should clarify this because people were excited about lawlu and i didn't want ya'll to get hyped up only to not have it happen so ;;; i am sorry, but please do continue to enjoy this fic for its zosans!! (SLOW IN THE COMING BUT THE BURN IS ALL THE BETTER) also the side navi+frobin. and maybe you'll enjoy the lawlu in whatever form it may take even if its not the usual.  
> as always thank u 4 reading and all yr nice comments!!


	16. Saturday Night Fever (Dream): Part 3

Things are going well.

The last throw—Luffy’s—has sent the ping pong ball popping from the rebound of the tabletop and sailing into the last beer cup of the enemy, and it is met with deafening victory. The guy with the tribal tattoo chugs the contents in a sportsmanlike manner, and Ace and Luffy high-five.

Things are going well, and then, well—things start going not so well.

Sanji’s mouth is dry. His head is pulsing in a threatening manner and he feels like he could just lie down right now, on the cool concrete floor, and take a solid sixteen hour nap. What he needs is water, he thinks.

He tells Law as much and is squinted at.

“You do seem dehydrated,” comes Law’s voice. Sanji nods his assent to that.

Law says something else, which Sanji doesn’t hear because the speaker in the corner has been cranked up and frankly Sanji’s not able to catch onto anymore words from Law. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

It doesn’t feel as if they’ve been closed for long before someone is tapping his shoulder. It’s Nami, and she’s shoving a water bottle into his hands and saying something, a shooing gesture following a jerk of her thumb, before she disappears again. Sanji’s fairly sure he heard her say _Vivi._ He peers at the water bottle, which is clear, but he uncaps it and sniffs it to make sure.

It’s definitely not water, to his initial disappointment, and all he can smell is coconut. If it’s coconut juice, he thinks, he’s lucky—the stuff is very hydrating. He takes a good long drink from it.

Another hand is on his shoulder, firmer this time. Sanji pulls the drink from his lips and feels some of the coconut juice dribble down his chin accidentally, so he wipes the back of his hand across his lips.

Law is frowning at him, cup of water in his hand, saying something.

“What are you drinking?”

Sanji himself frowns down at the bottle.

“Coconut juice. It’s hydrating.”

“Let me look at that.”

Before he knows it the bottle’s been taken from him and Law tips it back to sip it.

“Sanji, this is definitely Malibu.”

“S’what?”

“Malibu. It’s rum.”

“I know what Malibu—I just didn’t hear you before—wait, what? I was sure it was coconut juice.” _Shit._

“No. Here, have this.”

Sanji accepts the water and forces half of it down his throat, but his stomach is feeling full and churning, so he slides down the wall to sit on the floor before finishing the cup.

 

—

 

Zoro tracks back to the kitchen successfully, and decides to top up his drink again, just incase this is the last time he’s in the place.

The Glenfiddich bottle he originally raided is down by three quarters after he fills his cup up, and he would almost feel guilty, if he weren’t a poor university student and a stripper to boot. He thinks some old fart in the environmental department of the government can shout a poor student and stripper a couple of drinks at minor expense.

He follows the _other_ source of noise this time, passes a bathroom (where he hears some retching, poor bastard) and finds himself wandering out of a back door of the place, where the crowd seems to have spread to.

The cold air which bites his skin is refreshing, and he takes a moment to really breathe it in. He’s all whiskey right now, whiskey traced teeth, whiskey tinged lungs, whiskey flooding his brain. It’s been awhile since he’s really felt it like this; it’s not often he can reach this level. Cool air is a simply a contrast to the muggy cramped indoors, though it comes to his attention the patio here isn’t exactly less crowded. He watches with mild interest as a group of people gather around a girl about to do a funnel.

Zoro’s memory gets even hazier after he wanders around the pool and reaches a group in the corner of the area who are getting high, sitting on the stone floor slabs or the swinging chair, half of them already visibly way out. He avoids them, and tracks back around. Somebody bumps into him and spills beer on his jeans, which they apologise profusely for. He wonders vaguely if it’s time to leave. The screen of his phone glows in the darkness to tell him it’s nearing four in the morning.

There’s a few texts on his phone—he can’t even make out the contact names right now. He slides it back into his pocket.

Shouting from somewhere draws his eyes over.

The crowd is both surging and partying, shying and dancing away from a hulking guy in the centre. His hair is bright false red, his brows nearly invisible, blond and light and fine, eyes rimmed with liner set under them. A feral grin is spanning his face, pulling back lips, and his fist is curling into that of another guy’s shirt, pulling the shorter man in.

Zoro’s body almost wants to react reflexively. He knows the moves; self defense and martial arts are trained into him. But he stays put.

Another person is shouting, and a tall man with long choppy blonde hair is stepping in, a glove hand slapped across the protester’s chest. The crowd looks both nervous and eager, children intoxicated with lust, fear, and liquor.

Still, Zoro’s feet stay planted.

 

—

 

“I think it’s time to leave.”

Vivi looks to Usopp, and then back at her friends. Ace is slumped against the couch in the garage—he was awake not a moment ago—and Luffy is still churning through packets of beef jerky, ass on the floor, strawhat tilted back on his head. Sanji’s rubbing his face. Law is leaned against the wall still, pretending he’s a decoration of some sort perhaps. His eyes flit between Luffy and Sanji, as if stuck between being concerned for both of their wellbeings.

Nami appears back at their side, sliding a twenty dollar bill down her bra, presumably spoils of a bet, just as Vivi replies to Usopp’s statement.

“Yes, I think it is. Shall we get everyone in the cars?”

Nami frowns at her.

“We need to find Zoro.” She shoots Usopp a look. He sighs.

“I guess I am responsible for that to some degree, so fine, I’ll go. I’ll grab some other people so it’ll be quicker.”

Vivi watches as Usopp weaves his way over to their friends. She feels a light kiss on her shoulder, and turns her head to smile at Nami.

“Ready to go home and sleep?”

“Mmm, you bet,” Nami smiles, her eyes drooping closed and her head dropping to Vivi’s shoulder.

Vivi watches as Law pushes himself from the wall, and as Sanji stands too, the men following Usopp toward the door. Law seems to ask something of Sanji, the question in his face though Vivi’s unable to read his lips. Sanji waves a hand, gives his head a little shake, and stands up straighter. Law lifts an eyebrow, and then they disappear behind a group of people and through the doorway.

 

—

 

A punch is thrown by the huge redhead, and the other guy goes down with a bloody nose. There’s yelling, and limbs, and scrambling bodies across damp grass. Zoro starts to back away, more interested in finding his friends than watching some pathetic scrap be cleaned up.

Things go from bad to worse when a girl runs out of the back door and yells something at the groups currently unknitting from an almost-fight. A look is exchanged between the redhead and his lanky blonde friend, and then they’re jumping the nearby fence which is too high to be safe for vaulting in a drunk state, and Zoro is seriously confused.

The group in the corner smoking is also suddenly in a panic, scrambling up, and moments later the whole yard seems to evacuate, a streamline of people migrating to the back door, one word tossed around like a hiss of fire.

_Police._

Zoro lets himself be pulled in. It’s not the first time he’s been at a party crashed by the police. They get too loud, grow too big, go too long, and the neighbours call the authorities to weedle through the sad squall of teenagers and university students. It becomes an everyman for himself sort of deal.

His plan is to go with the flow and get back to the car. He ditches his cup and its contents on the lawn before he squeezes inside. Bodies are hot and wild around him, hands grabbing and discarding. He makes it through the pool room and then he’s in the dim room with the biggest speakers, and people are surging away like fish in a school, and then Zoro’s eyes fall to the shark.

Except.

Instead of a police officer in the police officer’s uniform, where a nameless face of authority should be, there is the face of a long-dead girl.

 

—

 

Sanji’s head is spinning, and he feels ill enough to chuck any moment, but _he’s got to find Zoro._ He’s seen two officers go in ahead and he’s not keen on spending a night in a cell, but he pushes against the crowd, fighting in the opposite direction, stinging eyes desperate for a glimpse of green hair and tan skin.

He recognises the uniform first, and his senses focus on her outline, short black hair, hands up and shouting at the fleeing crowd in a futile manner. Not like the other officer Sanji slipped past—silver haired and six foot five, gripping people by their arms all vice-like.

And then, Sanji sees Zoro.

He’s frozen there, and Sanji’s never seen him look like that ever before, and he doesn’t really want to. Zoro’s face has blanched like moonlight and his pupils are blown wide, thin gold rings around black holes.

He look’s like he’s seen a ghost.

It sends another sick ripple down Sanji’s spine, the world spins violently, and Sanji _hates_ rum, he really does, and he’s _never_ going to drink again, and he doesn’t understand what’s wrong with Zoro and his body is being buffeted by the elbows and knees of escapees.

In a tussle of his own he fights to Zoro’s side, and the policewoman is grabbing a kid who could barely pass for seventeen, but Zoro’s still staring at her like she has three heads, or talons, or a gun held to the kid’s temple, none of which are true. She looks quite lovely for an officer, Sanji thinks in his haze. Japanese maybe, dark eyes, square glasses and silk black hair.

“What the hell, Zoro!” Sanji grabs his friend’s wrist, which is curled by his side. “Earth to marimo! We have to get going!”

Zoro doesn’t respond, and Sanji’s stomach does another turn, his grip on the other man’s wrist tightening.

“What the fuck are you—”

Zoro’s eyes slide around to Sanji and the muscles in his wrist tense.

“—oh, good, you’re not having a stroke.” Sanji has to raise his voice. “Are you sober enough to listen? That’s the police, we need to _leave._ ”

“Police?” Zoro sounds unsure, which in itself is wrong.

“Yeah, duh. Right there, you were looking at her.”

Zoro looks again, turning only his head, and the way his eyes fall into her trips up Sanji’s pulse by another level. He takes Zoro’s other wrist in hand, trying to cage him in and shift that gaze onto himself; moving without even thinking about it.

“Come on. Just follow me out, okay?”

Out of all the blur, a few pieces of reality stay clear as crystal to Sanji: The warmth in Zoro’s skin under his fingers. The sweat he can see on the stripper’s temple and his neck. The whirlpool in gold eyes. The taste of coconut and rum in his own breath.

The crowd, the noise, and the world at large seems negligible.

There is just him, and Zoro.

Zoro looks at him again, and he seems to breath finally, chest expanding and expression becoming something tangible, a frown, brows drawn. His eyes at last see Sanji properly, and his voice is serrated with anger.

“I can’t believe she looks like her.”

Sanji doesn’t understand what the hell he's talking about.

Zoro tugs his wrists from Sanji’s grip, and grunts “ _Let’s get the fuck out of here_.”

So they do.

Nami is chewing her lip and tapping her heel when they get to the truck, and she snaps at them "What took you so long?" before shooing them in and going to text Usopp and Law. When she's done that she takes a good look at their faces, and frowns.

"Did something happen?"

"No, nothing happened." His words come out smooth and Sanji doesn't think twice about saying them.

Zoro only gives him one of those frustratingly unreadable looks, and says nothing.

 

—

 

_It's bright._

Sanji's head feels like it's a watermelon splitting open under a hydraulic press.

Stark light stabs his eyes, and he's confused because the pillow his face is squashed into isn't a pillow at all, in fact it's grainy, and he's sitting up and his neck is sore and he's actually on a couch.

"Sanji!"

He turns his head to the squeak.

Chopper is there, a tea cup in his hands, fluffy brown hair falling into eyes that peer at Sanji.

"You're awake!"

"I am awake," Sanji repeats. And then he groans. "Where am I?"

"Our flat."

"Whose flat?"

"You know," Chopper sits down in the armchair across from the coffee table. "Zoro's, Usopp's, and mine."

"And why am I here and not in my own bed?"

"Well, you fell asleep in the car, apparently, not that I was there, and Usopp said he was too tired and Zoro agreed that when they thought about taking you home and having to put you to bed and—"

"Okay, okay, whatever," Sanji sits up a little more and waves his hand. "I get the picture. Man, my mouth tastes like ass."

Chopper splutters a little, choking on a sip of tea.

"You've tasted ass?!"

Sanji rubs his face.

" _No_ , Chopper."

 

—

 

Zoro's first waking thought is that he'd like to sleep for another few hours.

His second conscious observation is that it smells _wonderful._ Like bacon frying, and bread rolls baking. His mouth is watering.

(Or perhaps he was drooling in his sleep.)

He rolls himself up and out of bed, looking down to make sure he's wearing pants—jeans from last night, good enough—and pads out down the hallway, following his nose. He rounds into the lounge room and sees his youngest flatmate with his nose in a book.

"Mornin',"

"Zoro, you're up!"

Zoro grunts.

"How do you feel?"

"Not too bad. Hungry."

"That's good! Sanji's making breakfast."

Zoro grunts again, and his stomach growls right after. He shuffles past the coffee table, scratching his bare stomach.

"Oh, and Zoro—"

"Mm?"

Chopper lowers his voice enough for Zoro to just hear over the sound of the pan sizzling and the extractor fan whirring. "Turns out Sanji's  _really_ not a morning person, so don't pick a fight with him, please?"

"As long as he doesn't pick one with me."

Chopper give an exasperated little moan, and Zoro just grins ever so slightly, continuing toward the noise and cooking smells.

It's weird seeing Sanji in his kitchen.

The blonde's back is to Zoro. His hair's a mess, and his usually crisp clothes are crumpled. His hands are moving deftly, flipping bacon and adjusting the gas burner strength for what appears to be poached eggs in a small pot of water.

Zoro pulls the fridge open, and grabs the milk, drinking straight from the bottle as per usual.

"Oh, that is disgusting."

Sanji is grimacing at him.

Zoro wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

"My house, don't complain." He shoves the milk back in.

"You  _do_ know how unhygienic—"

Sanji stops in his sentence just as Zoro turns to him and closes the fridge door. His eyes move up and down Zoro's torso, and then his mouth snaps shut and he turns back to his frying pan of bacon, face obscured by a curtain of blonde curls. He keeps muttering something about germs.

Zoro's not listening. He's frozen in the centre of the room, stuck to the tiled floor.

_Did Sanji just... check him out?_

A few heartbeats pass, and Sanji flips another sliver of bacon, and Zoro still can't see his face, and he's not turning, standing too stiff. Zoro steps a little closer, and leans against the counter.

"You know, last night in the car you fell asleep on my shoulder."

Sanji's head whips around and his face is a mortified shade of pink.

"I did not!"

Zoro says nothing.

"...Did I?" 

Zoro grins.  _Got you._

"No, you didn't."

"Asshole!" Sanji's face is delightfully horrified and he snaps his head back around, giving the frying pan a look that could kill, his flushed ears betraying him. 

Usopp shuffles in soon after. They set the tiny table, and Zoro wouldn't admit it aloud, but the breakfast is one of the best he's had in months, maybe years. For one, it's a real breakfast, a full and balanced meal, and secondly, it tastes amazing. He's not sure how Sanji did that with what they had lying around.

Somehow, he ends up cleaning the dishes with Usopp while Sanji goes outside to smoke. When Usopp's done scrubbing plates and pans, he excuses himself, talking about a much needed shower, and Zoro picks up the last of the plates to dry.

When Sanji comes back in, Zoro grunts a quiet  _Oi_ _,_ and Sanji frowns, sidling over.

Zoro figures he owes it to the man. Because Sanji hadn't said a thing about the police woman who was not-Kuina incident—he hadn't said a thing last night, and he hasn't said a thing all morning. No questions asked, no prying. And a part of Zoro—quite a big part, really—appreciates that. And a smaller part of him wants to express that.

"Thank you," Zoro mumbles, stacking the last plate.

"For what?" Sanji's looking at him like he's speaking another language. Zoro's sure he said thank-you in english, though.

"Last night."

"Oh," Sanji says. He slides his hands into his pockets, brows raised a little, tone taken aback. "No problem. You would've done the same for me, I'm sure."

And it's funny, Zoro thinks, because he would. Of course he would.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> throws in a Zoro there at the end because long-time no stripper draws, as well as the floor plan of the Merry! I thought it'd be fun to draw, but yeah, that's her design and it's been in my head since the start
> 
> sanji is so Obvious but zoro is so Oblivious....but finally, zoro has noticed >:)
> 
> i have exams approaching but hope to see ya'll again soon!! thank you for reading as always ^ ^
> 
> edit: (almost a year later) i've been replying to comments and mentioning this, but I now go to university to study medicine and am very very busy! BUT this is not an abandoned project. I will do my best to update during any and all holidays I get! Much love to readers. Thank you all for your patience.


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